Left Behind III: Soul Taker
by Late to the Party
Summary: AU Novelisation of Baldur's Gate. Part 3 of 3. The endgame approaches, but facing it requires courage. So much loss, so many scars, but at least they still have each other... The third part of Left Behind, written back in September 2011.
1. Soul Taker, part 1

Soul Taker

"Then this is farewell."

"F-f-for now. J-Jaheira and I f-feel we need some t-time alone. Y-you are grown now and have your own d-destiny a-ahead of you. W-we will never for-forget what you've done."

The half elven warrior laid a surprisingly strong hand on my shoulder and looked me straight in the eye.

"Gorion would be pr-proud of you."

I acknowledged it with a dip of my head; there was nothing left to say. I gripped his lithe forearm and he squeezed. It meant more than I could say. To my right, Imoen was embracing Jaheira, and I caught a snatch of their exchange. "Don't weep child."

"I'm not," Imoen dashed her fist against her eyes. Another fierce hug followed, then steadying herself, Jaheira stepped back and nodded to the young woman. Khalid and I both smiled at them. Jaheira glared, then softened. Imoen half turned, then threw herself at Khalid, who caught her more gently she expected. I watched, acknowledging that they were as much family to her as I.

Since their initial meeting a day after Gorion's fall, they had journeyed together until Irenicus – now Joneleth – separated them. Struck down, Khalid suffered a terrible fate. Hovering between live and death, he floated within a jar. Time lost all meaning for him. Though we escaped Irenicus' compound, we had failed to find Khalid and Dynaheir, another of Imoen's companions. It was all we could do to free Jaheira, and Minsc, Dynaheir's protector. I, myself, was drugged addled and only dimly recall our flight to the surface. There we came face to face with our captor, only for Imoen to be taken from me again.

In the midst of a horrific battle, Irenicus spat destruction, his magicks all but unstoppable. Ensuing chaos followed and I remember only Imoen trying to protect me. When I came to days later, I found myself amongst two of the warriors that had aided my sister half a year before against our brother Sarevok Anchev. Now the tyrant was dead, slain at Imoen's hand, and a new threat assailed us. Together we sought Imoen, gaining friends and allies along the way, including her lover Edwin Odesseiron, a wizard of no small prowess.

Eventually we found her, trapped on an isolated isle and held captive by Irenicus who had claimed it as his own. Though we stormed the asylum and rescued her, we arrived too late; Irenicus had what he wanted: her soul. Defeated but not overcome, all we had done was driven the mage back. His retreat tolled a hollow victory, but it had proven he was mortal. We had Imoen back, but at a cost: she was dying.

Not knowing her husband's fate and unable to move on, Jaheria had given up all hope of ever seeing him again. The full cruelty of our captor became apparent when we pursued his sister and henchwoman, the vampiress Bodhi, who held in possession Imoen's soul. We were greeted by the sight of Khalid and Dynaheir entombed in jars, bait to lure us out. They set upon their former companions while I found myself victim to Bodhi's final kiss. Her fangs could not prevail against my divinity, but neither was I left unscathed. My own soul was taken from me; Irenicus' true gambit. Forced to slay her husband, and Minsc his witch, we had recovered Imoen's soul at a terrible price. We could not save those we loved; to have found and lost… whether it was for revenge, or whether it was because I was dying and had no choice, we set off after Irenicus.

The mage had returned home, to the city of his birth. Suldanessellar. Once, he had tried to ascend to godhood, and for his pains, was stripped of his soul. Banished from his homeland, he had slowly deteriorated, fading, dying as I had begun to. Bodhi had shared his punishment and exile, though not his ideals. Seeing his people weakening, he had sacrificed everything to defend them including their most sacred laws. All that was left was for him to die, and visit revenge upon those who had betrayed him: his people and his gods.

At the heart of the city stood a great tree, the so-called 'tree of life'. Seeking to consume its power for his own and destroy his gods, Irenicus began to siphon it while his allies wreaked destruction throughout his former home. Before his dark magicks finished their work, I, now fully transformed, sank my fangs into the Tree. The exchange that followed altered our fates forever.

Held to ransom, the elven gods were forced to hear my words. My soul was restored, and in exchange I returned what was taken from my captor: his soul. With its return, Irenicus ceased to be, and the elf once known as 'Joneleth' stood in his place. Irenicus was my foe, not Joneleth, and in returning him, I had separated myself from the rest of my kindred. The Tree proved its name, and its gift of mercy left all of us, even the gods, in wonder. From the dust Khalid and Dynaheir had been reduced to following their destruction, they were renewed, restored.

Now… we were parting ways.

"We have not forgotten our oath, child. If you ever have need of us…" Jaheira's words were reinforced by her tight enfold; rarely affectionate, she was never one to show or even admit weakness. Her tawny eyes held a faint sheen of mist. From the first she had watched over me, a 'mother hawk' as Edwin had once sarcastically described. I could ask for no better guardian, no better guide. She had taught me herblore and much of life. I owed her my life more times than I cared to count; I'll never know why she was so fond of me. Of Imoen, I could understand; only one without a heart could abhor her. My sister adored Jaheira and Khalid; while I floated in a tank, she would tell me of them, and the love, awe and wonder in her tone warmed me towards the pair more than anything else they could have done.

I met Jaheria's gaze, and understanding passed between us.

"You've grown." The respect she held for me spoke more than words ever could. "Perhaps it is time…" She shook her head, a wry note touching her, "You have restored my Khalid to me, and I can never thank you enough."

"You don't have to."

She nodded slowly, then chuckled, "Aye, any more than you need thank us." Then she kissed me, her gaze strangely distant. I frowned. As I raised my hand to my brow, she smiled, "You don't remember, do you? I guess you were too young."

"You held me," I found my words echoed from another time, another place, "and kissed me… right there."

"You do remember." Her smile was like the sun, "Khalid and I visited Gorion after… you were still a babe. Imoen too."

I closed my eyes. When I opened them, they were dry. "I won't forget." I was no longer talking about being held; I meant everything, including Aliana's sacrifice. Jaheira had reminded me why we were here, the cost of it. She didn't need to speak. In that moment, I realised just how much I would miss her, how much I had come to rely on her, on Khalid. It had been less than a month since his resurrection, but already I valued his wisdom, his strength.

From the side, Imoen caught my eye, or perhaps I caught hers; whatever the case, we both understood. It was time.

"Wh-when this is ov-over…"

"We'll find you." My quiet conviction startled me, and Imoen's fierce nod followed it. I smiled at her, and she at me. We knew what had to be done, and this time we had each other.

"C-coming, my dear?"

Jaheria rolled her eyes, then took her husband's arm. "You two behave yourselves," she warned us sternly, then smiled, "though Silvanus knows why."

Imoen laughed, "We'll visit soon; I've always wanted to be an aunt!"

Khalid and I exchanged somewhat startled looks; then he glanced guiltily at Jaheira and laughed sheepishly. The latter shook her head. Then they were gone.

"So… what now, little brother?" Both of us stared at the spot they occupied, and their path into the forest. She nudged my arm.

"We finish this." I replied simply. For a second she hesitated, then nodded with grim determination. "Together."

"Always," she leaned over and pressed her cold nose to my cheek; I ignored it. "Yer no fun."

"I know." Then I grinned, "Come on, the day's a-wastin'."

She stuck her tongue out at me.

We both knew where we were headed: the stones. Unknown in origin, they were older than the elves that had first found and claimed them, when the forest was still young. Ellesime, the elf queen, had suggested we consult them. A waste of time as far as I was concerned, but Imoen was curious, and when her curiosity was invoked, little would dissuade her. I knew a lost cause when I saw one, so I chose to humour her.

Edwin waited on ahead; though the two half elves had accepted him, and he begrudgingly them, they had never truly got along. Of all our companions, he alone remained. Minsc and Dynaheir had returned to Rashemen, their homeland, and I suspect Imoen was all that was prevented Edwin from leaving for his own home in Thay. While Imoen was fond of both Minsc and Dynaheir, I knew she found the latter hard to cope with at times. If Edwin was to be believed, the witch had proposed to him, despite their respective lands being ancient foes. He had declined her suit, but I suspected there was more to the story. As for my part, I acknowledged Dynaheir's regard, but she remained cool to me. Though Imoen had spoken endlessly of me, Dynaheir still did not know me for herself, despite my role in her resurrection. Like Khalid, she needed time, and though Minsc was torn, I would not deny her. We had parted on good terms, and Minsc had declared that all would know of the heroes that accompanied him and Boo.

I still don't know how that orange rat he insists is a hamster survived Irenicus' compound. It chirped its own farewell, and for the life of me, I can't work out if the thing was just reacting to Minsc's bellowing, or if it was genuinely intelligent. Edwin commented that they probably heard Minsc in Baldur's Gate. I even agreed with him.

Waving to him, Imoen ran on ahead, and embarrassing both Edwin and me, greeted him with a long, passionate kiss. I had since grown used to her blatant shows of affection, and her tongue spoke words that only Edwin could hear. I suspect that had he not been so dignified and impressed with himself, she wouldn't have demonstrated her love quite so openly, or often. He offered me a slight shrug over her shoulders, but wore a particularly smug and self-satisfied look. I ignored it.

While Imoen linked hands with the Thayan, she waited impatiently for me to catch up, and as soon as I had, snatched my hand up, positioning herself firmly between us. I wasn't sure whether to shake my head or sigh; Edwin acknowledged this with a helpless look, and it was my turn to shrug with my eyes. Despite her ordeal, Imoen was, as ever, herself. If anything, what she suffered at Irenicus' hands made her more determined to live life to the full. She never spoke of it, but we had grown closer for it. When I closed my eyes, I could still feel her nearby, sensing her presence before she ever found me. I knew she did the same.

She turned and smiled up at me in mute understanding. Whatever thoughts she courted, she always seemed to know mine. I had given too much of our sire's essence to her for her not to know, but even before that, she read me more readily than an open book. When my soul was taken, she returned all I had given her and more, sustaining me as I had her. I found myself squeezing her fingers; she squeezed back.

As we approached the stones, my thoughts turned grim. I recalled all we had fought for, those we had lost, those we had saved, and the destruction we had wrought, the destruction wrought because of us, in spite of us, and the lives we had been unable to save.

I thought of the gnolls, xvarts, sirines and winter wolves I had made my own, at first compelling, then befriending them. I thought of Bear, once worshiped by the xvarts as guardian of their village. 'Ursa', they called him. I thought of Sil, the queen of the sirine tribe, of the xvart shaman, the xvart princess, and the four sirines who had grown so close to me. I thought of Laurel. She… more than anyone else I regretted losing. It was because of her I had to press on, because I had not been strong enough to save her. She was a paladin, a paragon of compassion, of virtue, of justice. She alone had seen what I was and sought to save me, even before I sought to save myself. A stranger, she had taught me that I was more than just a monster.

"Ow! What _was_ that for?"

"That's for broodin'." Imoen's jab shattered my thoughts, pulling me from my reverie. Then more quietly, she added, "She wouldn't want yer to."

I nodded slowly, sighed and sighed again. Imoen was right, of course. Laurel had been a mortal; she would not wish to be apotheosised. I hesitated in my thoughts. No, there were others who cared for me. Aerie, the elf, whose wings had been broken, then torn from her, worshipped me. Not only did she venerate me, but she adored me. The temples could not – or would not – restore her wings, and yet I somehow had. She and Korgan had travelled back to Nalia's keep. From what I understood, Aerie would take the role of the De'Arnise family priest. Korgan would train their soldiers, and the dragon Firkraag would serve and defend Nalia's lands. With Gerran, her uncle, and Iltha, her cousin, living with her perhaps the rift would be reconciled. Not only between Firkraag, Iltha and Gerran, but also between Gerran and his wife, Nalia's aunt. Of Squire Delryn, a would-be knight of the same order as Laurel, I knew little. I know only I had cautioned Nalia not to wed him, but whether she would heed my words, I cannot say. Perhaps she still held out hope I would someday return to her.

I cast a glance at Edwin; the mage was humming to himself, and smiling. He seemed completely oblivious to it, but Imoen basked in his cheer. She had had fancies before, but never had I seen her so full of life. A bittersweet envy-joy rose up in me. I was happy for her, for them both, but I still felt a dull ache in my own heart. Would I ever know that same delight? That warmth; that lightness in my step? I smiled in spite of myself. I could never begrudge her this.

We reached the stones.


	2. Soul Taker, part 2

It was not out of fear Imoen squeezed my hand, or concern; I felt her in my mind as much as through my fingers. Her warmth pulsed, interlacing with mine. Her reassurance was unnecessary, but welcome all the same. We shared the same thought: _together_. As one, we reached out with our joined hand, and touched the stones.

They were cool to the touch; they _felt_ ancient. Unlike the nearby roots, they were not covered with moss. Like metal, they seemed to suck in our warmth; I felt something resonate deep within myself, within Imoen. It tugged out our divine essence, reaching past the taint. Suppressed by the tree of life, and released from the vampire's curse, I still carried unseen scars, reminders. My senses were sharper, my reflexes quicker. I did not thirst for blood, or for raw meat, but I was more aware of the pulse of others. I could _feel_ the living around me; whether it was my divine taint, or Bodhi's imprint I do not know.

Perhaps it was because of this I knew something was wrong; Imoen knew it too.

While I was linked to the Tree, something changed inside me. We were days away from the elf city, but I could still feel it, rooted through the forest. It was connected to the trees of this grove, and had led me here.

Had it led me into a trap? I could not believe it. There was no malice in it towards me. I closed my eyes, and I heard a voice. A voice like the grating of stone upon stone, like the turning of two mill wheels.

The dagger embedded itself a nearby trunk; contemptuously, Edwin deflected it with his magicks. Despite his constant mutterings, he was more aware than most gave him credit for. My eyes fixed on the pommel; I knew Imoen had seen it too. The sigil of the Mocking Skull, Bhaal's emblem.

I could not move. The stones were speaking. I wrenched myself away from their grip, their words lost. I reached out with my mind, and instantly connected with that of my assailant's.

She was beautiful, there was no denying it. Her eyes were cruel, dark, even black, her skin porcelain pale. Long, lush, black hair fell down an elegant, slender neck, and sumptuous lips twisted into an unladylike sneer. Her strut lifted one leg higher than the other; her hips seemed to sing, and the swell of her ample bosom was lifted by a leather jerkin. I could feel her chill, and Imoen's instant hate. There was no denying the power in her; it called out so strongly, I would not be at all surprised if Edwin could feel it.

"I have found you at last," she drawled, her eyes quick, cat-like in their flicker as she dismissed the Thayan.

I felt myself restrain Imoen's hand unthinkingly; our sister laughed. Rich, full and disdainful, she knew the power of her allure and made no effort to hide it. She was older than both of us, but despite her finely sculpted features, the taint marred her; like an inky blot on a page, it stood out; it repulsed us.

I stepped into the waking dream; I felt my mind clash against hers. Somehow, she had warded herself. Her sneer changed to momentary shock, then she hissed, "So you are stronger than even I imagined."

 _Be still,_ I thought to Imoen as she opened her mouth to retort; angrily, she glared at me, but held her tongue.

"They call me Illasera the Quick," her lips curled, "you will find I am more than a match for your pathetic magicks. While you and Imoen have been wandering Faerûn like witless cattle, _I_ have been honing my skills in anticipation for this day. You may have slain Sarevok, little girl, but there are others just as strong, stronger. Do you feel it? Do you feel us? Our sire slumbers in his sleep; soon he will awaken."

Closing my eyes, I listened to the beat of her heart; beside me, I felt Imoen's indignation and fury rise. I tuned it out. Edwin was watching, waiting for that split-second shift; he could not best Illasera alone, but he was not alone. I could not help but nod in agreement; there was something stirring, something deeper within.

"The weak are preparing to be slaughtered. The pinpricks, so faint, will feed our sire. Those that remain shall grow in his power, and with your fall, I shall be unstoppable."

Once, Imoen would have snarled a retort; instead, her eyes were cold. My own smiled at our foe; the slightest frown knitted her brow. It was the sort levelled at a particular naïve child, indulgent, amused. I saw the hatred mingle with bile; it went deeper than Illasera. It was the mocking skull, urging her on, speaking through her. Even now, it tried to appeal to us, to me. It failed.

Whatever lecture it had prepared was lost.

"I will be the last!" She hissed the same words Sarevok had uttered; if there had ever been reason within her, it was now lost, just as she was lost to us. Leaping forwards, twin blades flashed at her wrists, and both flew from her hands.

It had been the moment Edwin had been waiting for; he unleashed his magicks in a deadly barrage. In the same instant, Imoen struck. Lashing out, raw tendrils of power whipped around her, whipped towards her enemy. The daggers pierced the first, second, third layer of Edwin's expanding fire. Followed with energies more deadly than I cared to dwell on, a mirage of colours and hues permeated the air. The daggers went through them; Imoen's threads did not so much catch them as _tore_ them out of sky.

I felt Illasera recall the embedded dagger in the trunk; I could feel her tug, her control, her command as it slowly tried to lift itself. Imoen's magicks whipped her; they rebounded off an invisible sphere. Encased around her, the bubble drank in Edwin's violent attack. To his ire, the mage noted how ineffectual his attacks were, and began weaving a complex spell with arcane gestures and mutterings. Imoen tried no such elegance; instead she blasted through the shielding orb, and ripped it asunder, only to find a second, stronger one underneath the first. Illasera laughed darkly, amused by the attempt.

I watched.

The dagger came free, the blade shooting back to her hand. Now Illasera began to circle, prancing, as if toying with us. Without doubt, she had faced mages before.

I could have drawn my own knife, a gift recovered from the ruins of Suldanessellar; it had been discovered in a temple, and though it was of elvencraft, none, not even Joneleth knew how old it was. The drow that had surrendered and renounced their faith in favour of their brethren's gods shied back from it. They did not understand it, nor did the elves; they only sensed it was old, perhaps as old as the stones. When Joneleth presented it to me with Ellesime's blessings, I wanted to refuse it. I felt the Tree urging me to take it, and I did.

Had I added my sire's power to it, I have no doubt it would become a potent weapon. Perhaps it was a godslayer. With it, and the lingering traces of vampirism's touch, augmented by learned skills and essence, I could have crossed the distance between us faster than a phase spider. Since my ordeal, I had gained insights into my own capacities and with the Tree's knowledge, and guidance, I had utilised the sirines' teachings beyond those of my teachers. I had touched the minds of the elven gods, and it had changed me as surely as being linked to the Tree had, as surely as being what I was.

Imoen's might slammed against the spherical shield a third, fourth, fifth time; each time, she shattered a layer, only to find a stronger layer beneath. Her eyes aglow, her hair wild, raw power crackled around her. Edwin added to her magicks, lancing the sphere with siphoning spells. As Imoen battered it, he sapped it. Where he had learnt that I wasn't sure, but he certainly hadn't demonstrated that particular spell since before Irenicus' downfall. I rather suspect he may have snuck off to question the mage about his spellcraft.

Despite Illasera's initial laughter, her eyes were gradually widening and her brow knitting as she diverted her energies to maintaining the shield. I did not think she had forgotten about her dagger, but the strain was beginning to show. She needed to end this quickly.

It was then I struck. It was not through the waking dream, or with any sirines' song, but it was an inward action. With the battle, the taint pulsed more strongly within us, awakening. I could feel it, its malevolence; it was alive. Even with the seal, it stirred. Its power, intoxicating, I knew that my sisters drank from it, its sickly sweet, sickening allure passing their lips. It laced through their veins, an intricate web of power. Its hold was strengthening, sustaining, fuelling them. The intricate strands were becoming thicker, rope-like. I pushed down. Calmly, slowly, with a will tempered by the experience of ages, I took possession of myself. It was like resisting the incoming tide; it fought me, furiously surging, its fury, its hatred, the red mist trying to blind me, dominate me. I ignored it. With a certainty beyond my years, I understood it. I knew its familiar ways, its call.

Down and down I pushed, refusing it, refusing to rise to its ire, its taunts, its bile. Fighting it with its own weapons would only shape me in its image; firmly, I pressed on it. Flailing, quailing it sank. It fought every step of the way; my will never faltered.

I ignored the gasps around me.

Illasera's shield collapsed. With the same tenacity, I suppressed the taint, and as I held it down, it fell in my sisters. I felt the confusion, the fear, the hate. Even Imoen's; the taint within her drove her magick on some level, and I had weakened it. With a final push, I locked down the well deep within me, and with the sudden still, my sisters' found themselves muted.

Edwin's magick rocked the older woman; sent sprawling to the ground, her enchantments crackled, burning up around her. Her eyes met mine; I held up my hand, forestalling the killing strike. The magick lancing from Edwin's fingers froze; a single twist of his upturned hand, and the greenish-black energies would coil towards her.

My words spoke directly into her mind, my thoughts filling hers, the Skull's. With pictures and sounds, I conveyed my message in purest form: raw communication.

 _"I have the knowledge of the rite that was used on Irenicus, and in turn was used on us. I will use it to strip away not our kindred's souls, but our sire's taint._

 _"This war will end."_

She tried to scream her protest; I could feel it rising. I could feel the Skull's screams. This was not what was supposed to happen, this was not the way it was meant to be. It could never have foreseen this. I was meant to be the Son of Murder, the Destroyer; the Terror of the Sword Coast. I was meant to rid Faerûn of all my siblings. I was supposed to be the sacrifice to restore my dead sire; I was supposed to murder Bhaal and take his place, and in so doing, become him.

For the first time, the Skull knew fear. I would no longer heed it, no longer live by its rules. I would not play its game.

Death had not proved the barrier the Skull thought it was. Reunited in life and love, Jaheira and Khalid, Minsc and Dynaheir had become stronger, not weaker. Had I murdered the tree of life, I would have been unstoppable; the taint would have corrupted its power, and I would have swept aside all and any opposition. Instead, I had respected it, defied my own birthright, my own reason for being, and chosen my own destiny. I might still fall, but the Skull would never have me, not even in death.

I had denied it.

It screamed its fury, its hatred. It would rend all I cared for, all I loved from me, it vowed. It would–

Imoen's magick flared; Illasera became stone.

"Shut up," she snapped, though whether it was directed at Edwin, me or the Skull, or at all of us, I wasn't sure.

Soundlessly, I walked over to our transmuted sister, and slowly set my hands on her. Aware of the intense still, I reached down into her, past the stone. Deep, deep within, through what was once flesh, bone, sinew, veins, blood… into her taint; frozen, waiting to be unleashed, waiting for her life to shatter, for the power to flow out. It called to me, even now; I ignored it. Pushing past the taint, I touched the wellspring of our sire's essence. It still pulsed, muted, humming. Despite being stone, some part of Illasera still lived; I felt her soul tied down by the taint, darkened, stained. Gently, I began to untangle the strands. The Skull, the taint given form, screeched. Letting its shrieks pass around me, through me, I carefully unthreaded its hold; the hold it had worked so hard on cultivating.

What should have taken years in the waking world took a few moments in the dreaming. This was my reality. Helpless, it watched.

When the final thread came loose, I let it fall back into the crimson darkness, the sticky ichor. Worse than tar, heavier, thicker, it clung; I shook it off. It slid more easily than raindrops after a spring shower. Now I reached for her soul, and pried it free of the lies, the promises, the power, the lust, intoxication, the addiction.

Using the rite, I sent the taint back down to our sire's throne; I glimpsed the columns of statues. I felt the rush, the surge; it was the same when Sarevok died. All our kindred would feel it, and the strongest would be drawn to it. Power flooded into me, into Imoen. Into all of us.

Illasera still stood, held in stone. Underneath Bhaal's throne, where all our statues awaited, her place was empty as Sarevok's, but her soul remained in my grasp. Gently, ever so gently, I released it back into her. I felt something deep inside her gasp; something had changed, something was missing… something had freed her. Her statue had not crumpled into dust; frozen though she was, she lived.

I wouldn't always have the time, the luxury to do this, the Skull vowed. I would not be able to save everyone. Even if it could not have me, it would have others. Others would, and did listen. They would come for me. I could not withstand them all. Not even I could face their combined might.

I smiled at the Skull; it read my thought, and fled in terror. Bring all of my siblings to me at once, filled with whatever essence is bred into them; I would suppress it and in that moment, the Skull would lose its hold. Not all would listen, but there would be those who broke free. Reason would prevail; the truth would be revealed. That the taint was nothing more than a masked slaver.

There would be those that didn't care, the Skull warned, its parting shot laced with spite.

But for those that did listen, it would be enough. I was no longer the hunted; I was coming after each of my siblings, coming to show them the truth. As long as they clung to darkness, to lies, to murder, they had already lost. Murder could not snuff out all Life; it was dependant on life to exist. Without life, there could be no murder, and without fear, there was no power. I did not fear the Skull; I understood it, and with that knowledge, it feared me.

"When this is all over, we will release you, sister." I vowed softly to the statue; somewhere deep within, some part of her acknowledged it. Perfect in likeness to Illasera, I admired it – her – beauty. I did not need to look at Edwin, or see Imoen's slow nod. Neither were entirely sure they believed what had just happened. "Bury her?"

The red robed mage complied.


	3. Visions of Saradush, part 1

Visions of Saradush

Three invaders. One city.

It was like watching Athkatla burn a second time. Unlike Amn's capital, a river ran along the _outside_ of Saradush, holding one of the armies at bay. They had surrounded the city; I had seen their faces in my dreams. Arrogant, haughty, proud. My brothers. Powerful warlords, each had earned their name. "The Dragon". "The Giant". "The Mystic". The last was known for his righteousness, his piety; the first was known for his cunning, and the second his savagery. All were known for their ruthlessness. Without remorse, without pity, they converged.

Barricaded within the citadel, situated in the north of the walled city, a fourth warlord, "The Barbarian" held out.

Earlier that night, I had felt the shockwave; the rush. Imoen woke with a start, bolt upright while I dreamwalked; I was thrown out of it, and our eyes met. Immediate relief filled her. Ashen, she reassured herself I was still here, and without speaking, she drew near. Edwin slept soundly beside her; any pretence had long been discarded and now they openly shared a bedroll.

Covering herself with the fur blanket, she reached out and touched my face; my eyes closed as she traced my features. Then her arms flung around my neck and tightly she clung to me. She gripped my hair as if I was the one who needed assurance. Through the covers, I could feel the swell of her breast and wondered why she wasn't cold. She didn't feel cold, but I guess that came from sidling up to Edwin. I don't know how she'd respond if we were attacked, but if we were, I guess it didn't matter how we were dressed: we'd be fighting for our lives anyway…

I was long past any surprise that she slept the way she did, and it only bothered me when there were others who might see; I held her in turn, and I was surprised when her lips met mine. Staring into my eyes, she made me promise not to die on her. I still saw the shadow in her mind, the memories, the fear… Irenicus may be dead, but his scars lived on in her. I expected her to be more vulnerable, but she paid it no mind as long as Edwin was around. I felt a pang of jealousy that she would be able to trust another so much, but as she stroked my hair, I knew she'd never leave me. Not until this was over at least.

It had been nearly a month since we left the relative shelter of the forests of Tethyr, the stones, and Illasera. It had been even longer since we left the elven city of Suldanessellar behind. We had cut across Tethyr, staying close to the river, and avoiding others. Many were refugees fleeing the region; the bedraggled, the broken, the destitute. Those who had lost everything. Mercenaries, soldiers of fortune, poured into the area, as did bandits. We saw the royal army of Tethyr from a distance. It was combating the growing threat with increasing difficulty. I did not think it would be long before they pulled back, or marched against the Bhaalspawn. The region had already been torn apart.

Now we watched the carnage from on top of a hill. We had taken refuge in the trees, distancing ourselves from the roads and the city below. Mighty siege engines threw terrifying orbs of fire; the walls shook, magicks shielding what they could, while other magicks tore through the shields. Saradush suffered under the constant bombardment. I could count two dozen catapults and even though it took time to load each one of them, their barrage seemed relentless.

Worse was the armies. I counted not hundreds, but thousands. Between the three camps, I estimated two thousand to three thousand warriors in the forest of tents. It was the largest gathering I had ever seen. How were there so many people in one place?

Beside me, Imoen found my hand. I acknowledged it with the slightest nod; even if we brought an army, we could never have got through this. I did not know how many defenders there were, but anyone could see Saradush would not hold much longer. Even Edwin's trademark sneer was absent; standing on Imoen's other side, he too studied the scene in silence.

"We'll need their uniforms," I allowed simply.

"If they've got any," Edwin made up for his lack of contempt with a curl of his lips. "I doubt these cretins even know what one is."

Imoen smiled tightly, but the worry in her eyes cast a cloud over her lover's words.

"We don't need to fight them."

She pinched me lightly, just as she had done when we were children, "I'm not afraid, little brother."

"I didn't say you were," I retorted before I could stop myself, "I just didn't want your pretty face getting scarred."

Sniffing loudly, she ignored me, then smiled, "I'm glad you think I'm pretty."

I wasn't sure what to make of that. Then she giggled, hugged me, and kissed my cheek, "I win," she whispered, and pinched me again. I couldn't begin to guess what Edwin thought of our rivalry; for hours, I seemed reserved, lost in my own thoughts, and Imoen in hers, then she would make some comment, some quip, and we would exchange words, and just as abruptly she might pinch, tickle, hug or kiss me for no apparent reason. I'd never known her so clingy; mostly, she wasn't, but when she was, it was as if we were back in Candlekeep, and as she had then, she often chose the most inappropriate times. I was… grateful for it. After everything we'd been through, alone and together, it was a way of keeping us both sane. I looked down at the destruction and wondered if this was the right choice.

"It's the only choice," Imoen murmured, as if reading my thoughts.

"What's the plan?" Edwin asked rather sarcastically, "eliminate them one by one?"

I hadn't actually thought of a plan. "Unless we do nothing, I don't see much alternative. Short of issuing single-combat, or setting them against each other…" I glanced at Saradush. No matter what we did, we wouldn't be able to save the city now. "Got a better idea?"

"Bah. We should leave them to finish it and let them come to us. What do you hope to achieve?"

"You don't have to stay." I pointed out. Imoen's scowl went back and forth between us, and from the set of her jaw, neither of us were leaving.

"We just got here." She told us in a very Jaheria-ish 'that's final' tone, "an' I'll not have either of you two fightin', ya hear?"

"We weren't. We were discussing."

"Uh… yes, discussing. Like civilised individuals. You do have those here, don't you?"

"Zip it," She jabbed both of us, "So we sneak in."

"That's the general idea, yes."

"Then what?"

"We… find out where our brothers are."

"And then?" Edwin cut in, before Imoen could stop him. He was right; this was not a plan at all.

"We finish this."

"So let's go."

Edwin sighed, but wisely chose not to comment; Imoen's impatience was likely to lead us into a headlong dash. It gave me between now and the time we reached the nearest warlord's tent to think of a plan, assuming we even got there. Making things up as we went along was definitely not my style, but I would have thought Edwin used to it; it was definitely Imoen's.

"Perhaps a distraction," I wondered aloud as we carefully made our way down the slope. The woodland hid us, and the camps were at least two days away. "The siege engines…?"

Edwin and Imoen exchanged glances. "No."

"Whadda ya mean 'no'?"

"It's too dangerous. I should go."

"You? You can't walk without waking a sleeping ogre–"

" _That_ was different," the mage flushed, "and there weren't hundreds of warriors all wanting to slay us then!"

"Don't be such a cry-baby Eddie. Remember who killed Sarevok? Me. Yeah, little ole me. And guess what? You helped. Didn't we just beat a city full of drow? We made them run like the sissy elves they are."

"That was a few hundred and we had _help_! There are many, many more down there!"

"Edwin's right–" I shut up when I saw her look.

"Now you listen here, Edwin Odesseiron, you can either come with me, or you can stay here."

When had she become Jaheira? A sterner version of Jaheira, if such a thing was possible…

"It's sweet that you care, but really," she touched his cheek, "aren't you underestimating us?"

"You're underestimating _them_!" He fumed, "And it's not just the warriors, it's the other Bhaalspawn!"

So that was what he was really worried about; I couldn't blame him. She cast a fond look at me, then kissed him. I don't think either of us were expecting that, though perhaps we should have. My shrug summed up the light helpless frustration in his gaze; he'd best get used to it. Imoen wasn't going to let him go, and I very much doubted she'd change that aspect of herself for anyone. I found myself shrugging a lot these days.


	4. Visions of Saradush, part 2

With dusk, we struck up camp. Two bedrolls, shared between us, a banked fire, and rations. We had no time to hunt, and setting magical wards would mean risking detection. Within the small clearing, one of us would remain on watch, and we would sleep in shifts. Oh for my pack of winter wolves, even one…

The apparition met us as the sun fell. She had the look of a seer. Robed and hooded, her eyes were not bound, but the cowl's rim hid them from view. I don't know why some details fixed themselves in my mind while others did now. I was very much aware of the little details, and with them strange footnotes in my thoughts. There was a surreal haze to it all. The trees around us faded to nothing, the forest noise a muted buzz. Edwin attending to the mundane task of preparing the meal; I would have thought he would hate this, but he had quite a knack for it. Imoen, at least, loved his cooking, and mine was… passable. Nearby, Imoen prepared firewood, a task Edwin truly despised, (possibly due to the splinters and needing to keep his hands 'free for spellcrafting, (you stupid, inbred simian)'… as he'd once remarked to Korgan), and I set out the bedrolls.

"I am not known to you, but you are known to me. You must help us." Her words carried her plea with sincerity, with desperation. "The city will fall without you. There is not much time left. You must halt this – before – before the carnage overcomes us all. They are without reason, blinded by hatred, by your sire's touch."

"She's a projection," Edwin spoke acidly, looking up from the dried meat he was slicing and preparing to boil with chopped spices. His narrowed eyes promised violence, but he did not act to banish it yet.

"How do you know us? Who are you?" Imoen demanded.

"A friend of Saradush." She appealed to me, "Help me save the people there, and I will aid you."

"Yeah right," my sister matched Edwin's tone and then some, "like we're gonna trust a complete and total stranger who just appears without saying who she is or how she knows us."

"Please," the woman ignored the younger, "only you can save Saradush."

Imoen interpreted my silence, and snapped before any troubled look could darken my brow, "Save yourselves."

Before Irenicus, before Sarevok, I would have called her to task, invoking her name sharply.

"I… I see it is not enough to convince you. I… was wrong about you, about the future."

If it was an attempt to garner pity, it failed. Ellesime, with hundreds of years under her, queen of an entire people, a proud and ancient people, had struck me as weak, and her attempts to 'guide' me quickly evaporated. Now this – this woman who revealed less than nothing, thought she could manipulate me? How did she recognise what we were… how… I bit back a breath.

Faces unknown to me floated in my mind, distant memories surfacing like dreams. I had walked the path of my own life as the Tree walked its; I saw my past, saw myself as a babe. Saw my siblings readied for sacrifice. This new way of looking at things allowed me insights otherwise unknown. In my mind's eye, I saw a younger Khalid and Jaheira storm Bhaal's temple, one of many enclaves, with Gorion at their head. I saw through my infant eyes; saw Imoen laid across the alter, Aliana her mother, readied with the knife. I saw Sarevok off to one side. I recognised him; his features, from his death knell, that night… Imoen's descriptions of him. Our brother. Memories long forgotten…

"Very well, if that is what it will take, then so be it. I am–"

"Amelyssan."

There had been others that day. The skeletal guard bearing the symbol of the mocking Skull, my sire's sigil… Jaheria had told me not all the priestesses perished that day.

"How–?"

"You were there, that day." My voice sounded strange, as though I was speaking across time, "Gorion never saw you, but you were there."

"That fool ruined everything," her lips suddenly twisted, and pure, unadulterated hate gripped her controlled white rage. "None of this would have been necessary without his meddling – but you," as abruptly as it arrived, it was masked by a smile, "you will wish you had fallen to the knife."

"What–" Imoen began, even as Edwin readied himself. I ignored them.

"Look at me," My calm unnerved her, unnerved even me, "don't you recognise my eyes?"

"No! You–"

"The 'Blackhearted' they named you, the highest of all Bhaal's priesthood. Do you remember what you said? What you whispered in the darkest hour of the night? Did you think I would believe that Gorion simply 'found' that particular enclave, that– " I shook myself, coming out of the memory, my gaze snapping, locking onto hers, the projection nothing more than a conduit, a shade in a mirror, "so that was it. _That_ was how you lured him: Aliana." With the mention of her mother's name, Imoen's eyes widened, scarcely daring to breathe.

"You knew what Bhaal's touch would do; you _directed_ his temple. While he ravished unwilling women, you and the other brides prepared for the day. But Aliana was not a random victim, was she? You _chose_ her for your god knowing it would draw Gorion. You _allowed_ him to… to take us… to take me?"

"Well done," the projection's smile was no less twisted, but it held a note of pride, "It seems I _was_ mistaken about you. So the truth, child."

"Why did you never search for me?"

"And draw you into the fold? Into Saradush?" Her scorn at such obvious stupidity stung, and even before she had spoken, I knew how foolish a question it was.

"But the assassins?" I persisted.

"If you could not survive a few pathetic mortals, you did not deserve your birthright."

"Then why lure me now?" Suddenly I realised; she hadn't known. "You thought me… dead?" The memory returned, of being carried out in Jaheira's arms; the chaos, the confusion… the dead all around us, the smell of burning, of blood, the screams… "Didn't you look?" Perhaps my question had not been so stupid after all, "two children in Candlekeep…" Why had my tongue taken hold; why was Imoen staring in horror, afraid to speak, and Edwin… Edwin staring as if I had grown multiple heads. I was rambling, but I could not stop myself; when had I lost control, "Surely…"

"The other brides."

Everything made sense with those three words. Power in Murder's temple was born of Murder. "A coup?"

The apparition nodded slowly, as if a sudden weight had fallen over her, "they were successful. I barely escaped with my life."

Words resounded in my head. _"There will be other Children… not for you."_ I hadn't realised until now the pain she felt; her look as I watched her eyes. "The hated you… envied you. I… remember. Their looks…"

"How could you?" She snapped, "You, a child, a – a mere babe. You cannot know these things!"

"No, there was more to it. You…" It was my eyes that widened, "You betrayed them. They awaited their charge with glee… that their lord would be reborn. You spoke the same words, but your adoration… you wanted it for yourself. You wanted… me… for yourself."

"Yes, I betrayed him as he betrayed me."

"'Remain dust, my foolish god' you swore. You whispered those words to me, as you laid me down. You… orchestrated all of this." I hesitated, "When my brothers are dead, when they have crushed each other, when you have guided them to their deaths and sunk your knife in the breast of the last… will you sacrifice me as well?"

"It was never meant to be you."

"You would use me in your bid for Bhaal's throne–"

"I would have kept you for my own!"

The world around me shattered.

Was I dreaming?

From far away, Imoen called my name, her hand impatiently shaking my shoulder. "Wake up, sleepyhead. You're dreaming again. Always sleepin'. Dinner's ready."

"Imoen…?"

"Well who else would it be? Yer silly." She studied me more closely, "You look like you've seen a ghost. You okay?"

"Just… a bad dream," I managed a wan smile. Not quite believing me, but knowing we both had plenty of those, she squeezed my hand as returned my smile. The words lingered in the depths of my mind: _"I would have kept you for my own"_. How…? "My mother was a dreamwalker."

"Yeah, so?" She tilted her head, "Yer being very odd, even for you."

"I guess… I don't know." Why was I keeping secrets from Imoen of all people? I didn't want to scare her, but that was a lie; I didn't want her to stop me. "I think about who she might have been sometimes, who she was. Jaheira told me a bit about your mother…" Momentary pain flashed across Imoen's face; I added hastily, "I wish… I wish mine was like that."

Keeping her smile tight, she hugged me and kissed the side of my head. Firmly, she took me by the chin, "We've got each other, so no more broodin', okay? We're not gonna die, not yet, an' we're gonna beat bad ole Bhaal together. He's too stupid to know that he's dead, an' he sure as hell is gonna stay that way. Ain't no one who's gonna stop us. Not Sarevok, not Illasera, not anyone. These 'warlords' with their fancy names don't mean nothing. You browbeat the elf gods into submission; why in the hells are you scared? They oughta be scared of _you_ , an' if they ain't, we're damn well gonna make 'em."

My smile lifted a little; I wish I believed her. Perhaps it was just a bad dream…


	5. Choices, Decisions, part 1

Choices, Decisions

The dawn was bloody. Pillars of smoke blackened the low-hanging cloud, but the walls still stood. A sea of tents stood between our camp and Saradush. Imitating the stars, a thousand campfires, torches and braziers stood in mockery, taunting me. I did not need the Skull to tempt me to snuff out their light; I could feel the anticipation, the gratification from the slaughter. _This_ is what Sarevok wanted, what his armies would have brought. Sarevok was dead, but others had listened. I had not.

What could I do? I had sworn to slaughter my siblings before allowing another 'Athkalta' to occur. Four armies, thousands of warriors; even if I cut a path to the warlords, I could not defeat them all. I was powerless. Could I assassinate each of them? Without the head, surely the snake would fall?

Could I negotiate with them?

The idea died as soon as it arose. There might be a loose alliance between three of them, but it would not last. For all their reputations, they were still Bhaalspawn, and they each had their own agenda. Was I misjudging them? No, they had taken up followers, as I had once intended, and now they marched to war. Their intentions no longer mattered; only their actions. Saradush was lost.

Did I throw everything away in one headlong charge, a mad dash, an attempt at stealth, assassination? Or did I wait. Did I sacrifice Saradush, and let my brothers kill each other; did I let their armies turn against themselves and return when there was only one left? Did I risk everything for that final confrontation, when one warlord claimed the armies of the rest, or did I strike now, while they were united – and divided? Perhaps… perhaps Edwin was right.

The more I thought about this, the less I liked it. This was not the place I wished to make a stand; Sarevok, for all his scheming, and use of bounty hunting assassins had had the right of it: we should duel, not with armies, but with our own might, on the sites of Bhaal's defiled temples. Before I died, I wanted to see the temple of my birth, of my dreams.

Saradush would not be where the final conflict was decided.

"Imoen, Edwin," I called, turning by back on the sight below, "We're leaving."


	6. Choices, Decisions, part 2

There were objections, of course. Edwin was at first startled, then pleased I had seen 'reason'; Imoen was anything but. Eyes flashing, she just stopped short of accusing me of cowardice, instead reminding me of my words.

"Jaheria told me what you said to the paladin: you vowed you would 'not allow another city to burn like Athkatla burned'."

"Shall I return to Suldanessellar and beseech them for aid?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what you should do." She folded her arms, "They owe us."

I sighed, "Imoen–"

"No! What the hells is _wrong_ with you? There are innocent people down there!"

I shook my head, "There are too many. Edwin's right. The more I think about it, the less I like it. We can't take them head on."

"So that's it? You're giving up, just like that?" Incredulous disgust and disappointment gripped her; her look tore at me. I had never felt so filthy.

"We need to lure them away from the city." It sounded weak to my own ears; I tried to sound firm…

Slowly, she considered this, then nodded haltingly. "Yeah." She sighed, "I'm sorry."

I looked away.

"What are you thinking of?"

"I… don't know." I frowned, my brow knitting, "A couple of ideas, but hazy ones." I pursed my lips, "You got anything? Edwin?" I called to the mage who had been standing to one side listening in silence.

"Nothing," Imoen sighed.

"I think we should… reconsider Imoen's suggestion." Edwin began carefully, lacking his usual sarcastic bite, "Those tree-fondlers and pious alter boys will answer your call. Even a display of force…" He broke off, muttering as he mused aloud.

I shook my head, "I don't think they will. The Radiant Hart won't leave Athkatla undefended and Ellesime won't risk any more of her people…"

"Bah!" Edwin snapped, "You spared their most powerful mage; they have an army of drow. _You_ have a dragon. Call on your allies. I do not think you can save Saradush, but if you are determined to try, use them (I doubt they will remember to honour their pledge, yes, they will serve themselves)."

"They're over a month away, and that's just getting there–"

Imoen cut in, "So?"

"There's Tethyr to consider," I pressed, "Do you really think they'd allow a foreign army on their soil?"

"Tethyr needs allies," Edwin spoke as if I was being a particularly ignorant or naïve child, "Suldanessellar's forces will help relieve the bandit raids. The Bhaalspawn are the biggest threat."

"Even if Tethyr agreed, which I doubt, it would take too long. Saradush will still fall–"

"Yeah, and if we do nothing, it will fall anyway." Imoen glared at me, "What's got into you?"

I sighed, "All right, we'll try." It was my time to pause, "But you two go."

"What?!"

"You can't mean–"

"I'm going to Bhaal's temple... the one…" My eyes closed, "where Gorion found us. It isn't far. The Forest of Mir, south of Saradush. Two tendays, maybe more, maybe less."

"Why?" Imoen implored, staring at me.

"That's where it began… it's where it should end. And…" I found my tongue had dried. "The dead await us there. The spirits of the slain… the murdered…"

Edwin was nodding as if it made sense; Imoen's confusion turned to irritation, then determination. "I'm coming with you."

"No." My word was final, damning. Naked shock, then hurt passed her face; I gentled my words, "No, Imoen."

"Why not?" Defiant, she stared up at me, eyes beginning to glow angrily; her hair was wild, and the air around her hummed soundlessly; the build up before it crackled with power. The girl was a tempest, a maelstrom.

"Who else will convince the elves to assemble here? Edwin won't leave you."

"And I won't leave you! 'Together', we said, or have you forgotten so quickly!"

Irrationally, I felt annoyance surge at her stubbornness, "Fine," I snapped, revealing the real reason I didn't want her along, "Aliana's shade resides there. Hers, and the others. Our siblings – the ones who died that night. You want to save Saradush? You convince the elves; you tell Ellesime about 'duty', and 'honour', and about defending her border. Tell Joneleth, if you can bear to look him in the eye; he'll come."

"How… how can you be so cruel?" Involuntarily trembling swept over her and immediately I regretted my words; Edwin fixed me an angry look of disapproval, but he understood that as brother and sister, we bantered, bickered and fought. He stepped to put his arm around her shoulders, but she stood her ground and faced me, "Stop trying to push me away," she prodded me in the chest; I winced, she always knew exactly where to jab. "It's not going to work. I don't care what it takes; I'm not leaving you again. I won't let you run off and die in some vain attempt to protect me. I'm a Bhaalspawn too y'know, and I'm not gonna let you face our brothers alone. If – if you try – I'll – I'll find them and kill them before you can."

"You're crazy." I retorted flatly.

"And you're _not_?!" she demanded, "don't even pretend to tell me that's not what you're trying to do. You _want_ them to follow you to the temple; you're going to try to fool them into thinking you're seizing Bhaal's throne. I don't know how, but you're going to try."

I didn't deny it.

With that uncanny ability of hers to read my thoughts, her eyes widened, and she jabbed me again, "So that's it! Sarevok! You just can't let it go, can you? You're still guilty over not being there with me! Well, you weren't – and I – oh gods, _no_. You are _not_ even _thinking_ that! Sarevok was mad!"

"No, he wasn't. He was blinded by power, lied to, but he wasn't mad."

"You're not going to attempt the rite! Even if you do try to change it – I won't let you!"

"Have you got a better idea?" I folded my arms; her hands went to her hips. "Edwin can help me. I can still commune with Aerie; she's connected through my essence. It will draw them away."

"What is _wrong_ with you?!" She cried, this time punching my arm in her frustration.

"Go and get the elven host," I told her gently, "Aerie will bring Firkraag–"

"No!"

Our eyes locked and held, her glare, my steady calm.

"You can speak to that tree." Edwin interjected abruptly, as if coming out of his own world.

It was brilliant. We both stared at him. Sometimes it was easy to forget how shrewd the Thayan was.

"Together, then." I finally gave in, but held up a finger, "if we can't think of anything else that will draw them, we corrupt and perform the rite."

Again, she bit her lower lip, "The rite needs a sacrifice…"

"That's what they're for." I assured her.

"The taint will be stronger there. What if…"

"I'd die before hurting you."

"That's what scares me."

I sighed, then kissed her, "I love you, Immy."

"I love you too, little brother." She forced a smile, "We'll show 'em. If they band together, it'll save us hunting them down."

My own smile was fond, and I touched her cheek with my forefinger, "And while I sing to distract them, you'll stab them from behind."  
"Yeah!" Then she made a face, "but I'd rather you didn't sing. I love you, little brother, but it sounds awful."

"Hey!"

Edwin rolled his eyes, "Are we going to stand here and talk all day, or will we actually get some walking done? (I have a scroll I want to read…)."

I chuckled ruefully, grateful of how tolerant the mage was to our shared closeness; Imoen stuck her tongue out at both of us, then took first my hand, then his, and started walking.

"Uh… Immy, aren't you forgetting something?"

"Hmm?"

"Our camp…?"

"Oh, yeah. You boys clear it away. I – uh – need to pay a visit to a bush."

I sighed; Edwin wore a long suffering look. Our eyes met, and mutually we turned to pack things away. She wouldn't return until we had, so there was little point waiting. Some things never changed; Imoen shirking chores was one of them.


	7. Choices, Decisions, part 3

That eve, I communed with the Tree. Veering away from Saradush, we had stopped in a glade. Our path had taken us east of the city, and while it was slower than going by road, the forest was arguably safer. We would leave its confines in a few days, I suspected, and skirt around and head south until we crossed into the Forest of Mir. We would continue until we found the old temple. I could not repress a shudder as I considered the other Bhaal temples; the Friendly Arm Inn had been one once, and that was a veritable fortress. Sarevok had uncovered another, under the city of Baldur's Gate, but how many others were there?

I could never tell Imoen where I had learned this from, how the knowledge had been planted within me by the apparition. By… Amelyssan. Could I trust her? She expected to perform the corrupted rite herself. She would not expect _me_ to attempt it. Not… unless it was a trap.

It didn't matter. Even if Saradush fell, it would not be in vain. In my naïve vow, I had lost sight of the greater truth: preventing Bhaal's resurrection. Joneleth had taught me that there came a point where one must be prepared to sacrifice all in order to prevent the greater evil. Through Irenicus, he had taught me that some prices were too high to pay. I had to walk between the two choices.

Touching the Tree was always strange. Its view of time spanned over centuries, not hours or days. It counted the seasons, marking off decades as I would heartbeats. Infused with the divinity of the elf gods, I too, lost mortal sense of time. Dreamlike, I floated, not in darkness, but in light. I felt its warmth, its recognition. For a time, I forgot my worries in its embrace; I knew only peace, the reminder that storms came and went, and in spite of everything, the taint did not rule me. There was more than just darkness ahead. I even allowed myself to believe it, and its fond regard, protective and watchful, allowed me the rest that had been denied me since leaving its forest.

It might have been minutes, it might have been hours, but it didn't matter to me. Through the Tree, I sensed the elf gods, their perpetual connection, and felt their aloofness. I did not explore it further, but the cool I felt from them was like a cloud; they did not approve of me, and while they did not actively dislike me, they would not embrace me. They respected the Tree, and it was only because of that that they tolerated me at all. I suspect one or two of them _did_ dislike me, and as always when I brushed the link to the elf gods, I felt the gentle warmth of a smile, so faint I thought I imagined it. I recognised its feminine touch, and I found myself smiling back in turn. No more was offered or given, just a subtle sense of being watched over, and my silent acknowledgement. It was the strangest sensation, being aware and yet removed, a surreal haze of warm light, a blanket of dry mist.

The Tree knew what I wanted. Before I could ask or explain, I found myself staring at an apparition of Ellesime and beside her, Joneleth, in what appeared to be a glade. The dreamlike state had not left, and above, I could feel the elf gods watching on with varied interest. An ebb of outright disdain made me wonder how much they could see into _my_ mind; then I felt the Tree's gentle chiding. It did not speak in words, or even images, but I feel its soundless hum, the emotion. It was aimed at both of us, though I did not know which of the gods it was.

We communed in thoughts shaped by words, and inwardly, I shook my head to clear it. The idea of using pictures was not one that came easily, not when I wanted to argue the case. I felt slight disapproval, and I sighed to myself. Giving in, I projected my thoughts; I felt Ellesime's thoughts form into words with the hint of a smile.

 _"You needn't be so loud."_

 _"Loud?"_

It was as if she tapped her head, _"Speak gently."_

 _"Oh. Sorry."_

 _"What may the Seldarine do for you?"_

I frowned. I did not want the elf gods.

"There is a great menace…" I began, then stopped. I shook my head again. For a dreamwalker, I should have been more accustomed to this. _"Saradush will fall."_ I tried offering images of the walls, the bombarding, the three armies.

Joneleth was silent.

 _"You wish our aid?"_ Ellesime asked diplomatically, though my intent was obvious. I had not felt so awkward in years; there was such grace and elegance to how she framed her thoughts. So many meanings could be carried and still it was clear and concise. By contrast, my own attempts felt clumsy, childish, like a dragon stamping through an elven garden.

I felt her smile, and I didn't feel quite so bad. It seemed like all my thoughts were spilling out, unrefined, without focus or direction. A mangled mess of emotion… like an adolescent. The thought made me wince.

I felt a note of amusement, impatience, sympathy, compassion and intolerance from the shapeless mass above.

 _"I can't stop it."_ I did not plead, but there was a touch of desperation, _"Refugees are flooding out of Tethyr_ , _bandits plague the roads. My brothers are bringing destruction and chaos. Four of them lead armies and they gather in and around Saradush. Imoen and I – we are two against four, but they have a horde at their command."_

 _"Is it counsel you seek or a host to lead against them?"_

 _"Neither. I–"_ What _did_ I want? I couldn't concentrate. I just pictured the border, the land of Tethyr, a force to block, contain and if need be, crush the armies of my brothers. It was crude, an inexact map, but it was my _meaning_ rather than the details I felt Ellesime acknowledge. _"They must be stopped."_

I hesitated; I could feel the rumblings. I knew I was no friend of the gods, elf or otherwise. Appealing directly to them, I implored, _"I am not your foe."_

That wasn't exactly true. I had threatened them, held their Tree of Life, their physical link to their people, at ransom.

 _"_ They _are. They will never stop. They will raze all in their path, and will embrace murder as my sire did."_

There was a cost. I knew it instinctively; before they answered, I understood. I could not ask them to aid me directly, but I would not attempt to _force_ their children into following my wishes. I had the power to lead others, to bring vast armies under my sway, to command death and destruction. I need only raise my banner and others would flock to it. I did not need their aid or their gods. I turned away from temptation's dark path: to even consider it would lead me into darkest night. I sensed a glimpse of their fears: they did not trust me not to use their children to rid myself of my brothers and claim my father's throne.

 _"A pact, then."_ I stood before them unguarded, opening myself, " _Bind me – a geas."_ Then realising it could be broken with my ascension, I spread my hands, _"What then? What will it take? My life? If that's your price–"_

 _"We cannot directly interfere."_

I did not know which one of them spoke; I think it was all of them.

 _"Then I will end myself!"_

That stunned them. I felt them debate, the storm amongst them. I knew this wasn't working.

 _"A poison! You cannot trust me to hold to my word. I understand the risk I am asking of you, and you understand the risk if you do nothing. A poison only you can remove,"_ I did not look at Ellesime, but up into the cloud. _"If that is what it takes, I will drink it."_

 _"You are bound too tightly to the Tree,"_ Ellesime's voice carried gently.

 _"Then I will unbind myself."_

 _"It is not so simple, godchild,"_ she explained, _"the Tree will not permit it. It sees you as one its own. Nothing we can say will change its mind."_

 _"It must."_ Stubbornly, I held my ground. _"My brothers cannot be allowed to continue in their path."_

 _"The Overfather has decreed that this will end when there is one of you left."_

Chill gripped me, colder than any ice. Rooted in the very depths of my being, the truth struck more sharply than any sword. The Skull began to laugh. My words silenced it. _"Then send your assassins, Ellesime."_ I turned to her, then seeing her refusal, appealed to my one-time foe, _"Joneleth… you must. If I cannot, I want you to end me."_

Our eyes locked and something passed between us; his brief nod was more binding than any geas.

My innards clenched, and I faced their gods, _"Hear me,"_ I could not keep the contempt and hate from my tone; it laced it, _"If there is only one left, it will be Imoen. If I must become Irenicus to ensure she is the last, I will."_

Ellesime gasped.

 _"Send your followers, pit them against me; I do not care any more. If this is what your precious master has decreed, I defy him; I defy you. All of you. I will destroy my brothers and end my life – and then woe to you. She will never forgive you for this. If any of my brothers ascend my father's throne, your children shall be murdered, you shall be murdered. Intervene at your peril."_ Love and hate coupled together in my thoughts, _"Try and stop me."_

Forcing myself awake, I felt the Tree's infinite sadness and hurt at my rejection; I could not disguise my own hurt from it. Raw emotion coursed through me, anger, pain, hate, disbelief. I had never… always I had thought we made our own fates, that we were not bound… not slaves to the petty whims of gods. That even a dead god, with murder bred in me, could be resisted, overcome. The revelation that it could not numbed to my core. What was I fighting for?

What was any of it for?

I closed my eyes, but no tears fell. In the cold still, my decision was already made. My resolve hardened. If only one of us could live, it would be her. I no longer damned the gods, or their rules; there was a calm about it. I was born of murder, and I would die of murder… but she would live.

The elf gods were right; I could not be trusted. My own being could betray me, the taint might overwhelm me. The skull might win. I could not allow it. I rose; somewhere over to my left, Imoen slept peacefully. Beside her Edwin kept watch, glancing at his scroll every so often. I met his gaze and acknowledgement passed between us. I could not tell him; I knew he would do it, but Imoen would hate him and I could not allow that. So instead, I left him sitting on his tree stump and went in search of the deadliest fungi Jaheira had taught me. A slow acting poison, ingested slowly over a period of days, building up… unstoppable at the end.

Imoen would hate me.

I had succumbed. Out of love, I had succumbed. I would murder myself.


	8. The Temple, part 1

The Temple

I did not 'walk when I slept; I did not sleep that night. I felt Tree reaching out to me, and I ignored it; I felt Ellesime's concern with it. I even felt Aerie's distress; she knew something was wrong, but not what. Since my soul had been restored, I commanded greater power than before, and since being filled with part of Illasera's essence, I was stronger than ever. Through Tree, I found a reservoir of untapped knowledge, and though digesting it was slow-going, I greatly increased my awareness. I learned how to reach out, as it did, and instead of connecting with the forest and other trees, I connected to my sirines. Elemental beings, I was able to tune into their thoughts more readily than that of the xvart shaman, who I found a few days later.

The shaman was old and did not have many seasons left to live; the xvart princess, who I had taken as a priestess, now followed me. I felt her through the quasi-bond, and her belief strengthened. The sirines, I was relieved to find, were unharmed. I had lost many gnolls, but my four had survived. The tribe had grown stronger in my absence, as had my community of gnolls, xvarts and winter wolves. They had had their challenges, but the foundations I had built in place had set them in good stead. They had prospered, and despite my abduction and the death of many at the hands of Bodhi's vampire agents, they still believed I would return to them. That the priestesses still sensed me, even when I had not sensed them, gave them hope. For a time, they were certain I was dead, but they knew I had not left this life yet. It confused them greatly.

We pressed on through the forest. I did not speak to Imoen, and her concern grew. Edwin knew something was wrong, but not what. He and she exchange several glances, and I heard her crying to him just before I returned from one of my leave-the-camp walks.

The forest still kept many beasts within it, but most were smart enough to stay out of my path. Those which did not were either squirrels who did not know better, or beings too stupid to realise that testing an irate demi-god was not in its best interest. As we pushed deeper in, I grew more withdrawn. At one point, Imoen snapped and told me to stop being so "moody". I simply ignored her; she immediately regretted her words, but I shrugged aside her apology. I kept silent, and the forest troll that dared to bellow at us found itself trapped in my waking dream and believed its posterior was on fire. I released it and it fled back to its abode. I would not usually be so petty, but that I had reacted without thinking, throwing out my power like a net before Imoen _or_ Edwin could react spoke volumes.

Several days later, I found myself face to face with a wyvern. It was young, stupid and vicious. It was as tall as my chest and recently left its parents' nest; hungry enough and dumb enough to believe itself to be the ultimate predator, I used the sirine song in the waking world. It was not words that sang, but my power. I took it back to camp with the intention to eat it, and later harvest its venom sacs. Imoen, however, though I had brought it back for her.

When I saw her eyes light up, I couldn't bring myself to disillusion her. All her worry evaporated and her smile was painful to behold; it had hurt not telling her what the elf gods had revealed, and it hurt holding her away. I just couldn't let her in. In a single, if unintended act, all was forgiven. I had overlooked her liking of inappropriate pets. She immediately set about examining it, and quizzing Edwin on the binding rites on how to make it hers. A kitten would have been better…

Edwin was just as impressed, though he didn't show it. He wasn't pleased he now had another contender for her affection, but he tolerated it because he had his scrolls – and because he loved her. In spite of the thick canopy, a surprising amount of light made it through and each morning and evening, he would spend an hour or so reading. Our silence became more comfortable, but Imoen was still not pleased by mine; at least she had something to distract herself with. I think she hoped I would simply snap out of it.

Each night, I searched for the fungus I had in mind. On the fifth evening since I enslaved the wyvern, I found it. After that, it was a simple task of preparing and measuring myself a daily dose. Less simple was finding a place to conceal it. Imoen was especially adept at poking her nose into places it did not belong and had a real knack for finding the un-findable. I did not trust her, so I made several 'herb pouches' using thread and an old leather glove. With five compartments, even if she got suspicious, she would not determine my intent; it was known I used venom.

During the next several days, we found the site of the temple. It stank. I could feel its evil wafting from it like the smell of cow in a cowshed. The stones were covered with moss, and large segments of the outer wall were in disrepair; where the gate should have stood, the walls bore the scars of battle.

Imoen found my hand, or my hand found her, and I forgot to be distant towards her. Edwin hovered protectively at her side, his robes drawn up arrogantly around him. However impractical, even in a forest without anyone to see him, he still insisted on his red embroidered robes. The wyvern walked beside the mage, and whenever Imoen wasn't feeding, scolding, petting, cuddling or oiling its green scales it, he kept a discrete eye on it – when Imoen wasn't canoodling him. The wyvern had to sleep outside the bedroll.

Under the moss, the stones were a black-grey. Through the gaps in the wall, we saw the inner wall, but not further. Debris lay strewn around. Perhaps I should have drawn my knife, but to do so seemed to acknowledge my sire's power over the site. Feeling the stones resonate deep within, a feeling Imoen shared, we stepped forwards. The wyvern hissed, rearing to its fully height, and Edwin absently rapped its snout with a rolled up scroll. It fell into a sullen quiet, and stayed close to the mage.

Pain flashed through me as we stood at the main gate; memories of lightning being thrown, of a chaotic escape. My infant eyes could not understand, but they saw. Now… I understood. My palm went to my brow; I dismissed Imoen's concern curtly, and stepped on. The doorway was tall as it was wide; there was a courtyard inside. Another doorway, and steps leading up… Shoulder to shoulder, we stood closer than we had to. Everything permeated vileness; it was almost unbearable. Without thinking, I reached out with my mind and linked my essence to Imoen's. The shared closeness, the same we'd shared as Irenicus' captives steadied us. Edwin had the wyvern, but the bond I shared with Imoen went beyond any physical touch. She smiled at him, and I shook myself.

We made our way to the stairs. It was unnecessary to offer Imoen a chance to back out; she would not leave me. I did not need to warn her to brace herself: it was clear in my thoughts. We were coming to the alter chamber… chunks of stone were missing from the battle years ago. The stones seemed alive with memories; fully awake, I was half dazed by the overlay. Jaheria's words rang in my mind as she described the battle; Amelyssan's knowledge within me… what my own eyes saw. The bloodstained stone blocks bore grim testament to those who had lost their lives under the knife – our siblings. Imoen forced herself to look, paling. Before us was evidence of the true nature of our sire's work. To have heard about it, to hear the skull, to have others try to murder us was one thing, but to see… this…

Imoen squeezed my hand tightly; even Edwin was sickened. My eyes drifted to the dais, the highest of the nine blocks. It was marked with the skull; on the floor below, another was set. It wore the same mocking grin. The chamber seemed sealed, but I knew better. Behind the main alter was a concealed passage. Outside were stairs leading up the wall. The enclave was meant to withstand unwanted guests; beneath the main chamber were living quarters. I don't know where the bodies were. I glanced at the remains of the tapestries, then gently took Imoen's face and pulled her into a protective hug.

She released a half sob and clung. I did not let her know my thoughts. As I stroked her hair, I vowed again I would not allow this fate to befall her. Edwin met my eye, and I realised he understood.

"There were supposed to be a score of us," I found myself speaking softly, the walls echoing my words hollowly, "I have never found out if the number was literal or figurative."

"The… the vision showed hundreds." Imoen swallowed, staring up at me.

I frowned; where did she know that from? Had I shared it with her?

She prodded me, "I can see it in your mind, silly."

I realised I was looking at it, and sighed. I needed to be more careful what I thought.

"I… see it in your dreams, little brother. Sometimes… I can see them. Like mine…" She shivered and I pulled her closer. She reached a hand out to Edwin, who stepped in and took it, the two of us holding her. Even the wyvern (who had followed us inside), nuzzled her shoulder with his head, "I don't like this place," she admitted, "I don't like this plan of yours… we should go."

I looked past her and didn't answer.

"Are you listening to me?" A note of irritation touched her; then she followed my stare. "No… you…"

"It's a shade," I heard myself saying calmly; from the centre of floor-set skull, I studied the wraith: it seemed to be white mist given form, a silhouette of what it looked like in life. It eyes were dead, but it seemed to hold a bittersweet smile in them. The outline of the features was unmistakable.

"Mother…?"

Edwin shifted protectively, ready to blast the shade back to the netherworld. I placed my hand on his wrist and shook my head slightly; he lowered his palm, but was still guarded.

"My child," the shade rasped, but her features shone, "my beautiful girl."

"Mother…"

"And you…" she looked at me, "you too…" her face saddened, "where is the third?"

"Sarevok's dead." I said softly, though it broke me apart inside. I could feel the weight of the scarcely outlined feelings.

"Poor boy…" Aliana whispered, "tried… so… hard to save you all… Gorion…"

"Raised us," Imoen cut in, tearing up, "I… I'm Imoen."

"A pretty name for a beautiful young woman."

"Is it true?" I asked suddenly, fearing, dreading, knowing the truth, "that you…" I stopped at the last second; Imoen did not need to hear about Amelyssan's manipulations.

The shade waited.

"And…?"

"Gorion?" She seemed to consider, "Yes, I loved him. Loved him more than life, but I loved you more." She did not move, but seemed to reach out to brush Imoen's cheek; I felt her ethereal finger a heartbeat later. I shivered as Imoen did. "Both of you… and the third… Sarevok? Such beautiful children…"

"Why?" Intently, Imoen leaned forwards, "Why…" She gestured at the chamber, at the robes.

"I had to, to save you." The shade's smile was heart wrenching, "You… don't know what he was like…"

"Who?"

"Your sire…" Sighing, Aliana grew distant, "so strong… couldn't stop him. We were taken… those he chose. Hidden away… never loved him. But you… your eyes, your smile…"

She was a much a pawn in this as the rest of us. I cringed inwardly, keeping my thoughts away from Imoen.

"Dreamwalker…" She addressed me gently, "you will protect my daughter?"

"As you protected me."

Imoen's eyes widened, "You can't! Don't ask that of him!"

The shade did not seem to hear Imoen, but nodded as if a great weight had been lifted from her. "Never wanted you to bear this…" she was fading, even as Imoen tore free of us and reached out; Edwin and I caught her. "Never wanted you to fight… so glad you are together… so sad for the third…"

"Mother!"

She was disappearing.

"Loved all of you… always."

"I love you too…"

I couldn't bring myself to speak.


	9. The Temple, part 2

"So little sister…" Another shade rose from the skull; I instinctively tugged Imoen back, as did her lover. The wyvern hissed. "You have survived…"

"Sarevok!" she hissed in horror, eyes tearful, "what do you want?!"

"What you want… to live." The laugh was deep, biting, "and this must be our little brother." His cold gaze ran over me, and I resisted it. "How different would things have played out if you had left Candlekeep that night, I wonder."

"You still would have lost!" Imoen snarled, raising her hand.

"I am already dead, sister. You cannot hurt me." His eyes gleamed with malice, "But I can hurt you." He turned to me, "She will betray you, little brother. She holds so tightly to you now, but murder is in her heart." Boring into me with a once-golden stare, now black, he began to laugh, "you fool. You do not know, do you?"

The last he directed at Imoen.

"What are you talking about?!" She demanded, "Speak or leave!"

I had the sickening feeling that he knew of my intention.

"And spoil the surprise? No, dear sister." His dark laughter echoed through the chamber, "You will see in time." He watched me with a mixture of scathing contempt and pity, "Such loyalty," he mocked, "such love. It will fail you in the end."

"Aliana sacrificed her life for yours," I told the malevolent wraith quietly, "she wanted you to live."

It did not faze Sarevok's shade, "She was weak."

"For us to be family together." Persistently, I searched him for any sign, any reaction. "We should have stood together. The three of us."

The shade's tone became reflective, "Perhaps things would have been different. Blood wins out in the end, brother."

"We make our own choices, Sarevok."

"You made yours, so stay dead." Imoen added with a venom that surprised me. "Gorion tried to save you, but he couldn't grab us all. You should've stayed where you were instead of running! If you'd listened, you'd have come with us, grown up in Candlekeep–"

"And become weak like you?" The contempt was so thick that the very air seemed to stifle, "I'd rather have died."

"You were afraid," she taunted him, "and that's why you hated him, why you hated us. You could've had everything. You could've been my brother. Our brother. Why'd you scorn? Why can't you just accept it?"

The step she took towards him was one that I'd been unprepared for; her eyes were blazing and her hair was wild and glowing, "You didn't hafta kill him! You didn't hafta _listen_ to the Skull!"

"It was too late." It was my words and not his, "It feeds off fear."

The shade stared at me startled, and nodded slowly. "Yes… I remember… the torment… you had such a soft life. The gutters of Saradush made me strong; Reitar made me strong. You never had to fight for anything. You are _weak_." The bitterness in his voice stung. "I despised you."

"I'm sorry… brother."

Imoen gaped at me. "What? He killed Gorion! It's cuz of him so many are dead!"

"Would you have been any different?"

"I despise your pity."

"It doesn't have to be this way, brother."

"It already is."

I shook my head, "The Skull lied to you. It lied to us all. It keeps lying. It feeds off betrayal, off murder."

"Stop preaching."

"Why are you even trying to save him?!"

"Let go. You made a mistake, a terrible mistake, and Gorion could have snatched you instead of us. It isn't your fault, brother. The curse you were born with, what we are both born with was not a gift; it was a lie. You were strong, but strength without compassion breeds only fear. Your fear destroyed you, fear of your own weakness. Let go." I repeated the last gently.

"It's… all I have left."

"No, brother. You have us." Rashly, I stepped forward and placed my hand against the shade; there was nothing there, only mist. "You can be free of this. You are chained, even in death."

Imoen was staring at me in disbelief.

"You truly are family," Sarevok laughed bitterly, then hissed, "I scorn your redemption. I had my revenge."

"Aliana wept for you."

"Sarevok…" Imoen called as the shade faded into the floor, "I – I'll never be like you!"

I looked at her sadly.

"Don't even think of asking me to forgive him! He deserves whatever hell he's in." She bit her lip and spun around, planting her face into Edwin's chest, "Stop looking at me like that!" Half plea, half demand, I sighed. Sarevok's words haunted me. He had his revenge.

 _"Yes brother, you did."_ I directed my thought at the spot the shade had sunk into, _"and what did you gain?"_

I didn't expect an answer.

Still holding her, Edwin finally spoke, "I did not expect to see him again. (One expects those one kills to have the decency to remain dead. Stupid simians can't even manage that. Bah!)"

Imoen smiled despite herself.

I found myself face to face with another ghost of the past.

"Child…" The old sage greeted me; my eyes misted.

"Gorion!" Imoen gasped, "You – you're here!"

"Forgive me," I could barely speak, "I've failed you."

"I am proud of both of you." The shade's tone was heavy, "I should have prepared you both better…"

"No!" Cutting him off, Imoen glared, "You did more than enough!"

"Always thought there would be more time… when to tell you… so young, both so young…"

"It wasn't your fault."

"Should've done more… I should've seized Sarevok's wrist… too consumed… oh my Aliana…"

I closed my eyes unable to listen.

"Khalid… Jaheira…? You found them…?" Hopeful, daring to hope, "So worried for you…"

"They live." My words firmed; I kept the tears at bay. Imoen did not; they rolled silently down her cheek. "They fulfilled their duty, their oath." I hesitated, "Firkraag also changed."

"Remarkable…" the weary old man contemplated, "the dragon?"

"There are only a few of us left now…" Imoen managed, "Sarevok… he's gone. I avenged you."

"Wish I could have done more…"

He was fading quickly; all the hate I'd borne for him at being abandoned… then the realisation of my error, the guilt… I didn't know what to say. There was so much…

"Aliana… she loves you."

He smiled.

"Father!" Imoen called out as he disappeared. She reached for him, and stared at where he stood, rooted to the spot. Then she burst into tears. I had never heard her call him that. I studied her closely, then discretely jerked my head towards the door. Edwin, arms still around her shoulders, nodded, and gently led the sobbing young woman out. The wyvern followed, neck arched and head dipping up and down, desperately concerned. That she hid her face with her hands made it all the more frantic.

A familiar voice called my name from behind; I spun around. "Laurel…"

"Hello," she smiled sadly. All vestiges of vampirism was gone; she was still beautiful, even as mist. Once golden hair was white, as were her striking blue eyes.

"Aren't you with your god?" it was a stupid question.

She shook her head, "No… I am chained to you."

I realised in horror I had not given her life at all, but slavery; by attempting to restore her, I had inadvertently… "No…" I whispered, "Not this… it's too cruel… gods…"

"Shh," she never moved, but I felt her come closer. "I am free of pain." Her smile was bittersweet, "I am rid of the curse; you let me redeem myself."

"Wait… don't go. Please…" I begged her; I had the horrible feeling she was fading and I was helpless again.

"We have a little time…"

"I – I love you." It was a hollow thing to say to a ghost; I could not name her a wraith.

"I know." Death could only dim her warmth so much; the rest shone through. "You…" Regarding me, she reflected, "were so kind. So giving."

I didn't ask if she loved me; it wasn't important. All that was important was holding onto these precious few moments, "I murdered you…" That was why she was here.

She shook her head kindly, "You spared me." Looking at me, into me, she considered, "You've grown."

"Not yet… don't… please not yet." Why was she so important to me? Was it because she was the first one who believed in me, in that I could be more than what I was? The first one aside from Aliana, Gorion, Jaheira, Khalid… I threw myself into the waking dream, and drew her in, "Look…" I showed her what had happened since her demise, "Athkatla is being rebuilt…"

I could feel her smile, even in the dream. I had to give her some measure of peace, something… "I'm stronger now," In the dream, I took her ethereal hands in my own; I could touch her.

"Don't lose yourself."

"No – I'm not ready to say farewell!"

"You must…"

"No!" Breaking out of the dream, I could no longer feel her hands; I didn't care, I fumbled at my belt pouch, "Please! A moment – just let me – please – Laurel! NO!" I felt the force of my own words shake the walls; my power, amplified by desperation, focused by it, I _forced_ her to stay. I threw it around her like a net, a cage; I had to hold her. Just a few seconds longer. Ripping off the purse, I emptied it onto my hands. "Here – touch this…"

I looked up; she was gone. My legs gave way, and in my upped hands, I held the nut from the Tree of Life. "Laurel…"

Why couldn't I have thought of this earlier? Grief overwhelmed me. My fury shook the temple. Hatred rose up in me, and here, in this place, this tainted place of sacrifice, this place of power, my own power answered. Raw, savage, it crackled around me; the stones could not contain it. A soundless shockwave erupted from me; grief, fury, the sense of betrayal, the unfairness of it all, everything. Everything that had been slowly building over months; the torture, the helplessness. Of losing Imoen. Of losing my soul. Of the gods' betrayal. My silent scream tore through the walls, through the ceiling. Imoen and Edwin had mastered magicks of terrible destruction, but my power was unshaped, directed only by my will.

The chamber exploded.

Stones vaporised, blasted to dust; it unleashed a burst that spread far beyond. Only those walls lower than me were spared; the tops of the trees were severed. "Arise!" I commanded, throwing my power out at the ground, at the shades that resided within the skull. I did not care which ones answered; I would have _all_ of them. "Live!"

From the courtyard Imoen stared at me. The wyvern was pressed flat against the ground, terrified; Edwin still held his love, and both thought I'd gone mad. I didn't care. I rose to my feet, channelling my power into the nut, and out again at the skull, "Damn you! _Live!_ "

…Nothing happened.

Tears rolled down my cheeks. I began to reach into the wells, to use everything; someone stopped me. I felt Imoen's will blocking mine.

"Let me go!" I roared, writhing, struggling against her. I could not hurt her, and she would not hurt me. Our wills clashed; she held her ground. No matter how much I pushed, I could not get by her. How she could block off access to my own essence was something that should have troubled me; right now, it was a source of frustration.

"No, little brother," she told me firmly.

"Damnit Imoen!"

"I said _no_." Her words lashed me, "You are not a god. You cannot change this. I want them back as much as you do; look at what you're doing! It's a trap."

" _I don't care!_ "

"I _do_!" I felt something akin to a slap; her words stung, "Will you leave me alone a second time?"

It was unfair, but it worked. It halted me where I was. I stared down at my hands, at the fruit. I closed my eyes; I would have kept going until I was dead. The sacrificial alters were gone, but the skull in the floor was glowing gold. I could feel the anticipation. I had… almost triggered the rite.

Disentangling herself from Edwin, she made her way up to me, and gently took my cheek, "Hey you…" her tone was thick, "I'm here."

I nodded stupidly, and buried my face against her shoulder. Putting her arms around me, she slowly took the fruit. I knew she and Edwin exchanged a look, but I was trembling too much to care.

"Shh," she soothed me, "dun't cry now." She sniffed a little herself, then made an effort to look around, "you did a number on the walls… I thought you wanted to take over not raze it."

I laughed despite myself.

"There ya go! A smile, that's better." Holding my shoulders, fruit still in one hand, she sighed, "you look like you've… uh…"

Quizzically I looked at her.

"I was gonna say 'seen a ghost', but I guess ya did."

"Oh Immy…" I groaned.

"Don't cry! It wasn't that bad! Well… I guess it was."

I shook my head, and suddenly everything was better.

"There now, ya see." Smiling, she kissed me, then looked me straight in the eye, "Ya had me scared for a moment back there."

"Me too…"

Shaking her head, she sighed, then demanded, "Ya see what ya did? Ya fruit's all glowing an' stuff. Ya tryin' to start a garden or something?"

I stared at it uncomprehendingly.

"An' ya dagger's glowing too." She scowled, "What'd ya do?"

She was right. The dagger Joneleth had given me pulsed through the sheath; along its blackened blade; the edges and centreline were a silvery-white. I shrugged at her. Whatever it meant, I didn't know.

"Oh you…" Sighing again, she just clapped my shoulder. I knew that look: 'what am I going to do with you?' – and coming from Imoen, that spoke volumes.

I glanced at Edwin and then the wyvern. As the creature cowered beside Edwin's feet, I felt a pang of sympathy. The mage snorted, but chose not to comment. I noticed how little he commented nowadays; maybe there wasn't a need.

"I didn't mean to scare him."

"Eddie's fine."

"I meant your wyvern…"

"I know that, silly. Oh don't look so down. It's okay. Boys!"

"Sorry. Uh." Guiltily, I asked in a small voice, "Was I really trying to raise the dead?"

"Yeah, brother, you were." The smile took the sting out of her words, and she kissed my cheek fondly, "Only you."

I smiled back shyly; Edwin snorted derisively again. I hope it was at because I'd never be anyone other than me, rather than at my stupidity…

"Well… I guess they know we're here now."

I felt a flash of dread at her words, "How long do we have?" I asked Edwin. The mage shrugged. "I guess… we should set up some wards…"

Edwin rolled his eyes at my statement of the obvious.

"Eddie, be nice."

"Yes dear." He eyeballed the skies, his scowl spoiled only by the warmth he had for her.

I wasn't sure what I should do.

"You, rest." Imoen answered my unvoiced question, " _We_ will lock this place up tighter than a nobleman's mistress…" She rubbed her hands together, aglow at the prospect of trapping the entire compound and grounds. When she got that look, she was never thinking anything good. Edwin rubbed his chin in thought, and I shuddered to think what sort of ingeniously twisted and creative defences they'd dream up. "Hey Ed, you remember that spell you showed me a few months back? The one with the stones…?"

I didn't want to ask what she had in mind.


	10. Dryads and their Trees

Dryads and their Trees

"What's it like, this tree you talk to?" Edwin asked abruptly. We were standing on the temple mound, overlooking the area I had …cleared… earlier. Wizards were not shamans, but this fact seemed to have escaped the Thayan; I don't know how he did it, but we seemed to be sitting on a rise where there was none before. The very earth around the compound had lifted and the earth were the edges of the forest were, sunk. I had a nasty suspicion that he and Imoen had prepared several 'surprises' in the 'basin's' dip, and the 'upturned bowl's' sides. For the life of me, I could not see or sense anything untoward; whatever they had done, they had hidden it well.

Dusk was fast approaching, the last crimson bands of sunlight fading beneath the tree-line. I could just make out the first stars.

"Its knowledge is… vast." I halted, unsure of how to explain; a deep sadness rose up in me. Ever since the revelation it would only end when there was one of us I had ignored Tree, "It sees things over centuries, not days. It's hard to explain. It… thinks – feels – differently. It talks in pictures, concepts, patterns."

I felt myself growing distant, as if speaking from another time and place, "Seasons it counts as we measure heartbeats; the stones in the forest are the only thing close to it in age. It is infused with the power of the elven gods, an elemental being. It might be older than the gods… it has watched the rise and fall of empires. It was there when Bhaal walked the land… before Bhaal ascended. A petty, malevolent mortal, a thief and a murderer. It has been, it is. It is more than its years, more than its bark. It is so old it does not remember what it was to be a sapling; veiled in the mists of time, we are as raindrops across a mighty ocean stretching further than any eye can see."

"And I?"

"A wounded little bird. A little bird among worms and insects. It likes you."

My eyes seemed to refocus, and I was no longer looking beyond the forest canopy, but through it. "Once all this used to be part of its wood. There were other rivers, little streams, and mountains the size of hills."

The mage seemed to consider this, then straightened his robes, not caring for the image, "And what sort of bird are you?"

"I don't know."

"Well, I'm no bird. (As if I, the great Edwin Odesseiron could ever be a mere _bird_. Am I some plain sparrow?)"

"A peacock?" Imoen joined in cheerfully, then changed her mind, "Maybe a phoenix?"

"I am no more a phoenix than you are a raven!" He fixed her a haughty stare, then remarked dryly, "Perhaps you are the first male dryad in history."

"Edwin!" Imoen almost socked him in the arm for that, then giggled, "I guess he _does_ look like he lives in a tree."

"Thanks," I answered just as dryly.

"I still love you, little brother, even if you have become a tree lover." Smiling impishly, she threw a protective arm around me, and whispered, "Eddie _does_ look a bit like a peacock, doesn't he?"

"Bah!"

I sighed; she plucked a twig out of my hair that had _not_ been there before her hand removed it. After half a moment, I grunted as her finger found my side. "Fine," I growled, rising to it; I understood her look well: 'don't be such a grouch', it said, "If _I'm_ a dryad, _you're_ a nymph!"

She gasped my name; Edwin snickered. "That – that's not very nice!"

"You even moan like one!"

"And what would _you_ know about a nymph moaning?" She asked archly, sniffing in perfect imitation of Nalia.

"And you tell _me_ not to be a prude?" I ignored her question.

A wicked light entered her eyes, and she giggled, "Well, you _are_ too young…" Patting my shoulder, she leaned in and whispered, "you'll learn one day, and then _you'll_ moan. If she's good enough." She winked at Edwin, who muttered something and shuffled; despite his grumbling, it didn't stop his broad grin, which only made his grumbling worse. "Ain't that right, Eddie?"

"(Women! Insufferable beings, I tell you. Can't leave a man to his privacy; no, she has to spread it to the whole world.)"

"Uh…" I really didn't want to hear it any more than Edwin wanted to discuss it.

"Prudes!" She shoved my shoulder, and stuck her tongue out at Edwin, "That isn't what you told me last night."

I made a face; it only made her laugh harder. Then catching Edwin's hand and yanking him closer, she draped her arms over both of us, and promptly kissed my cheek and his mouth. We both expressed a long suffering sigh.

Nearby, the wyvern gurgled, half demanding, half asking Imoen to feed it. When she had taken to giving it meals, I wasn't sure, but now it would only eat out of her hand or with her approval. I got the distinct impression that this was 'practice' for children; she certainly seemed to be covertly weighing how well Edwin did without her say so. (It was easier to think about this than about the rest of the conversations implications; as much as I loved her, there were some things I did _not_ want to know…)

"I could call a nymph for you, if you wanted, brother." Imoen added innocently, "Would you like one?"

"NO!" Both Edwin and I answered, stared at each other, and nodded firmly.

"Fiiiii-iiine. Your loss." Leaning in again, she breathed, "You don't know what you're missing. Tell him, Eddie." She winked.

" _Imoen!_ "

"Bah! Go play with your wyvern, woman!"

She giggled; I sighed. This was the price of trying to push her away; all she did was come back stronger. "So I'll go call that nymph then. Maybe we could get you a new harem."

I glared at her.

"Y'could, I dunno, distract our brothers with them. Dancing nymphs, along the wall." She peered at it, "well, what's left anyway."

"No! And don't even think of pranking me!" The joke was old now, but I didn't trust her at all. She might just decide that it was perfect for holding our foes' attention. "Besides," I countered, "having children weakens us; it spreads our sire's essence. I don't even know if we can."

"You know this? How?" Edwin demanded as Imoen shot him a sharp, concerned look.

"I just… do."

Imoen paled.

That night, I heard Imoen quietly sobbing into Edwin's arms; I wasn't sure what was wrong, but I could guess... I could feel his voiceless anger levelled in my direction; his protectiveness bristled. His annoyance was at me, but his anger was directed at Bhaal. I know that they had spoken for over two hours, and Imoen only picked at her food. I had rarely seen my sister so withdrawn, and I blamed myself for not keeping my mouth shut. Those few, ill chosen words had devastated her.

She would be the last, and the rest of my brothers would come first.

I made up my mind to slip away; our first plan was right: I would assassinate the warlords. I would begin by turning their armies against them. I would use the sirines' song to dominate their feeble minds; Irenicus had taught me much. I knew exactly how much a mortal could bear, how much pressure to put on them… I would break their collective will. I would set one army against another, and crush the mind of their generals. Their murder would come from the hand of their most trusted henchmen.

I would ingest the poison, and give myself to the Skull.


	11. Dreams

Dreams

I dreamt. The apparition came to me. Amelyssan. I greeted her with silence.

"I bear a warning for you: the siege of Saradush has been abandoned. They are coming for you."

Images of Yaga-Shura's army breeching the walls, the siege engines focusing their fire on a single point; the soldiers battling, both sides unable to advance. The west side of the city had fallen to The Dragon's forces and buildings collapsed by the defenders formed a makeshift barrier. Despite this, they were holding their own, and even pushing back Abazigal's troops. Balthazar, The Mystic, had not moved. High above, in the citadel, Gromnir, The Barbarian, paced. Locked away, he refused to see anyone, even Amelyssan.

Studying her cloaked features, I cast an indifferent look across the dreamscape; with a thought, I stripped away the city in front and the forest glades and hills behind us. In its place, the black-grey formless sea of mist rolled.

Beneath her cool control, she seemed startled; it was a sense, rather than any sight.

In darkness, we stood facing each other, her hood's rim still veiling her. Finally, she smiled. The scene shifted; Gromnir, the half orc, clad in full plate over ring-mail sat on a stone throne; behind him, his banner hung, and he clasped a mace over his lap like a sceptre.

Amelyssan was there pleading for the people of Saradush, those who had not fled. Fear of the road, of being overtaken by the Bhaalspawn armies… they had assembled in the city hoping it would be spared. Gromnir's soldiers oppressed them, sowing fear. Their desperation grew into despair. Public executions held back thoughts of rebellion, and the townsfolk's children were kept under the citadel. That, and the knowledge that The Barbarian's soldiers were all that were holding back the invaders.

I shattered the mirage effortlessly; it would have taken more to flourish my hand. I felt slight disapproval and ignored it; it grew because of my attitude. Banishing it, I drew up another scene: the realm beneath, the dark that resided in me. Crimson grey hung like vapour; ichor carpeted the floor of skulls. Blood ran in rivers. The film covering the divine wells, Bhaal's taint.

Amelyssan was unfazed. This was her lord's domain.

The mocking Skull appeared before her; her eyes widened slightly. Even the cowl could not hide it. It hovered, floating. I walked around it without moving; it rotated. She began to understand, began to realise that we were not outside, in some nether realm, but deep inside me.

Words were unnecessary. The horror spoke for itself. Somewhere my soul was in here, in me, tainted by this foulness. Thicker than tar, murkier than oil, it clung, defiling all it touched. The black blood, the ichor. This was my father's essence, his legacy. This was what he had sown in mortal babes, each born of murder, each bred to restore him. I, his child, his son. A perversion of the most basic link in life: I, who was meant to carry something of my father on through life, into death, had only one purpose: to die for him, to die at his brides' hands. His bride, my mother. His brides, our mothers. And now, we, his children, fought, wresting for dominion of the realms, of his throne.

This was the monster she served, the thief taken divine form. Those, my brothers, who marched across the land, were shades of the father. They had embraced the lies, the lust of power. They were nothing more than pale likenesses, vessels for his power. Abominations.

I was no different.

The depravity of Bhaal's rites, the blood letting, the murder. The destruction of innocents, the sowing of fear, of terror, the quest for absolute, total power. This is what she, Amelyssan the Blackhearted, engaged in. What she had willingly given herself to. The one question I had did not matter: _why?_ Nothing could justify this. She had been entrusted with the rites, the rites that would awaken her dead god, that would restore him back to life. When all our blood had been spilled, she would call him back. She had betrayed him.

So what did she want? To seize his throne? My thought filled the 'chamber', the pit, with a throne – Bhaal's throne. Around it spectres appeared, some vague outlines, their details too fuzzy to see, and others clearer. Sarevok. Gromnir. Imoen. Balthazar. Yaga-Shura. Abazigal. Illasera. …my own place stood waiting for me to take it; my eyes were drawn to the throne. The dais beckoned me, inviting me.

I turned and looked at Amelyssan.

"Enough games."

Dreamer, Dreamwalker. I no longer knew which one I was; perhaps neither, perhaps both. This hell, this vision of hell, burst, dissipating like a shockwave. The grey returned. I stood facing her. She did not speak, each of us knowing I had not made a choice, only stalled it.

"The royal army of Tethyr," The scene shifted, Amelyssan inclined towards the plain as if nothing had happened, "Janis Tombelthen leads."

I had not heard of him, despite all the tomes I had read. "They march towards Saradush?"

"Two of your brothers will meet him. When the might of Tethyr is shattered, there will be no one to guard the Tethyrians. Saradush is only the first of many." She paused, reflective.

"How long?"

"A few days, perhaps longer." Her gaze fixed on me, "you have halted Saradush's destruction, but only briefly."

"What do you want?"

"What we all want: for this to be resolved."

"You are asking me to end my sister." I faced her, my eyes aglow without my knowledge, "Is it Bhaal's throne you want? Or is it atonement?"

"Tombelthen will meet Abazigal and Yaga-Shura's forces before they reach you. I hope you are prepared."

"And Balthazar? Gromnir? What of them?"

"The Fates will decide," she spread her hands.

I suppressed my fury, "Who's side are you on?"

Nothing.

" _Tell me!_ " Flaring, I struggled for control of my tongue, then finally added, "Please."

She studied me.

I waited.

"Who's side are you on?" She asked me quietly, and faded from sight.

More riddles. What sort of question was that? Imoen's, of course.

…Wasn't I?


	12. The Mystic

The Mystic

Amkethran. Balthazar's home. He had been raised there. A monk, adhering to a strict life of discipline. At one with himself, his surroundings, his title was aptly chosen. The titles we had been given, that we had adopted, sounded as if we were constellations; perhaps we were. Our 'stars' seemed to be shining brightly enough, flaring and going out.

Like others, he had gathered a force of mercenaries under his banner. He had a loyal core; he had taken over the monastery, seen off those who opposed him, and held himself with a rigidity that allowed for no mercy. His deeds spoke of 'justice', but it was a harsh, ruthless justice that oppressed those under it as much as the tyrants' he had allied himself with. His 'righteousness' was terrible, veiled enslavement. I resented it.

It was because of Amelyssan I knew these things. I had felt them in the dream; they had the unmistakable ring of truth to them. Through her vision, I had seen his hard, relentless face. His eyes were pitiless. There was justice, there was law, and there were structures to fashion our sire's power. How much was I being manipulated? Balthazar's army had waited while the others had attacked Saradush, but they had blocked off any escape over the river.

The blood of Saradush was as on his head as much as the others.

I wondered how long it would be, and which one of them would prevail. Gromnir, the savage barbaric half orc. Balthazar, an unarmoured monk, whose very body and spirit had become a weapon. A scholar, a mystic. A man tempered by the desert's extremes. Gromnir, a tough, mighty chieftain. Were they evenly matched? Could either be reasoned with?

Gromnir barred Amelyssan from leaving; she was a prisoner of Saradush, his prisoner. She attempted audiences, treated him like a king, flattering him, speaking directly to him, threatening. Nothing worked. Or so it seemed. She had succeeded in keeping him in Saradush, hadn't she? Or perhaps it had been the other three.

Now she tried to parlay with Balthazar. He knew her, knew of her; he ordered her taken away, executed. For her crimes. "For daring to try to stop him, for pleading for the city?" she demanded. Balthazar did not answer, but she understood; she was a threat to him, to all of us. How much he knew I could not tell. The waking dream – this vision – this sight through Amelyssan's eyes, this shared dreaming, allowed only glimpses. Righteous indignation would not avail him; nothing would sway his heart of stone, his 'justice'. She turned on her heel and marched from the tent, the guards seizing her arms.

I watched not knowing what to feel. I waited for her to do something, to invoke her priestess' power… the monks were almost as hard as their master, and just as unfeeling. They chained her to a post, while the mercenaries prepared the fire arrows. The pitch was readied.

In horror, I reached out. I could not stop them, but to burn her alive? That she… I would not allow it. My essence surged as I made the connection, flooding the conduit between us. My power lay open for the taking, my divine wells. I took her hand and thrust it through the taint, through the film of ichor, and into the well. It leapt, filling her with power. She had been first among Bhaal's priestesses; she was not without power, but she was without her god. I stood with her, beside her; the arrows came, fiery streaks arcing closer and closer… they shattered. Directing my power, my will, I blasted them back as I had shattered the temples' stone roof and walls.

She could have taken it. She could have leeched my essence as Irenicus had leeched my soul; how successful she would have been, I don't know. All I know is for a moment, the briefest of moments, there was a shared understanding, an exchange of knowledge. Images, grotesque and terrible shook my mind; rites so horrific I could not bear to look. I felt violated, dirtied, as if no amount of water could ever wash me clean; the taint within rejoiced. I shoved it down, and then I felt her direct my power. Chains breaking from her wrists, it was like watching air spiral upwards; caught in the torrent, I felt a wave of sudden dizziness. Everything turned to black…

Where was I?

Dimly, in the back of my mind, I felt the faintest throb, a pulse so minute it was almost non-existence. I traced the thin thread, this line… the connection hadn't shattered. It was the same as the one I felt with Aerie, with the sirines, with the xvart princess, only… different. Theirs were finer, slender, easily broken; this was… diamond-hard, like a spider's yarn. I could feel the resolve, the determination, the power. I shrank back; she understood this better than I, knew more of my power… and I was not sure I could stop her.

I needed her, I told myself, I couldn't have allowed her to perish. Why did I feel like I'd just made a terrible mistake? Had I just become a vessel… a means of enhancing her might? Was I truly so naïve I had stumbled into the deadliest of traps with far greater reaching consequences than even stopping Irenicus had?

Had I just returned Bhaal's deadliest priestess to her place of power?

The now-familiar surge flashed across my mind, strengthening me, strengthening all of us. Deep within, I felt the taint stir; it was already awake, but before it was muted. Now it was a raging, roaring sea, hungry, demanding. It would drown our lesser willed siblings. The consuming tide broiled within me; it took all I had to silence it. I could not shut it out completely.

I was failing. As Bhaal grew more alert, my doom approached. I lacked the strength I needed for this… I had to keep Imoen safe. Filling her with my essence would no longer be enough; it would destroy her. Drifting towards my new depths of might, my thoughts converged on a single point: who had fallen? Balthazar or Gromnir? Or had it been Yaga-Shura and Abazigal, turned on each other? The roar was so deafening, it drowned out all hallmarks of the vessel's personality. Who they were was lost.

That is all we were, that was our fate. To be lost in our sire's rebirth. All of us. Could I save her…?

Balthazar. If any of our siblings could be swayed, it would be him. Abazigal was nothing more than Bhaal's shade, fashioned in Sarevok's likeness. The Dragon. The fire and lightning he commanded, the storm he wove around himself, the fearless strike of his sword, a petty tyrant. His ambition was no less than Sarevok's, but his execution was lacking in refinement. Like Gromnir, like Yaga-Shura, he had simply roamed, gathering followers, and slaughtering all in his path. Drawn to his banner, to his power, many had joined him, and now, he, as Yaga-Shura, were lost in Bhaal's storm. They were nothing more than our sire's shades, without wills of their own. In listening to the Skull's lies, they had been murdered by it. All it had promised was death – and they had found it.

But had Balthazar?

I touched the needle-thin thread, "Show me," I commanded. There was no resistance; slight surprise, but she yielded from choice, not because I had ordered it. I needn't have spoken; I should have used Tree's lesson.

I found myself face to face with Balthazar.

A dream, a vision. Something more?

 _"Speak, Dreamwalker."_ The Mystic's words were harsh, _"I will not suffer you for long."_

I hesitated, then steeled myself. _"I do not want this,"_ I cast my glance around the city of Saradush, its dead, _"any of this."_

I had not known what I would say, how I would say it, or where to begin. I searched out his eyes; they were hard, uncompromising. He was as tempered steel, granite. I sighed. " _How will this end, brother? How many more must perish?"_

There was no answer.

 _"Enough innocents have died in these wars of ours. Let us settle this… between brothers. I await you at our sire's temple. Will you bring your army, or will you meet me alone?_ "

Still no reply.

 _"It is useless to reason with you then? Our sire stirs, his storm thunders, and I cannot tell which of our brothers has perished; all have fallen. I sense nothing but mindless shades now. Bhaal's taint has overwhelmed them."_ I felt sorrow, and a wave of great loss pass over me, _"We are all that is left of the Children."_

Nothing. Nothing at all.

 _"A pact, brother. Let us destroy these abominations, and if my will should fail and I am lost, destroy the vessel. I will do the same for you. If we are ourselves when we meet in the flesh, we will settle accounts then. If that is all that is all you will agree to, so be it. I do not wish to fight you brother, but I will. Neither of us will ascend our father's throne."_

For the first time, he spoke, _"We are agreed."_


	13. The Battle for Tethyr

The Battle for Tethyr

Janis Tombelthen's army was in disarray; elements of it were in flight, others lost completely. The dead littered the ground like starfish thrown upon a beach after a storm. It was not a single battlefield, but several. Steadily pushed back, the Tethyrians fought for their land and king, for their homes and families, but it was not enough.

Had I been there I could have turned the tide; had Imoen been there, we would have been unstoppable. With the onset of death, its rush of power, she retreated to her lover's arms. Taking solace in him, his warmth, neither wished to admit it might be the last time they spent together. When she wasn't with him, I felt her gaze upon me; she petted and cooed to the wyvern, as if everything were normal, but the stupid beast knew something was wrong.

As Tombelthen fought a rearguard action, many brave soldiers were slaughtered. The shades of Bhaal, no longer caring who they fought, massacred all around them, as they sought out each other. Unstoppable, they drove their own warriors forward, and in fear and bloodlust, many continued to follow. Many more did not. In the shade-avatars place, others rose up. Minor, petty warlords, they fought for control within their own ranks, and many, many minor battles broke out. Some fled, but others knew there was no escape; hunted as fugitives, and driven by an unquenchable thirst, they understood this was their chance to topple Tethyr and seize power. Bhaal's taint swept over them. Murder held them in its grip, its presence a dark cloud.

The course of days had taken their toll; reduced in number, morale and believing death was at hand, Tombelthen prepared to take his final stand. Where Amelyssan was in all of this, I did not know. Through the waking dream I watched; the three armies did not form up, they had already taken the field. Pockets of soldiers clashed, and the two vessels had grown in size, towering above mortals, their flesh insubstantial, darkened, shadow. Whether it was Bhaal's power that I was seeing, or whether they had actually become his avatars was unimportant.

Grief clenched at my insides; this was exactly what I hoped to avoid. In desperation, I turned to Tree, and found myself in the presence of Ellesime, Joneleth and the elf gods.

 _"Do something,"_ I pleaded, _"Tethyr will be overrun. Please."_

I thought of the destruction I had seen in Saradush, the homes, the bodies… men and women, children, babes. Images of Athkatla filtered through. The burning, the looting, the killing… the skies had remained dark for days, blackened by soot, reddened by fire. I turned and faced Joneleth, _"These are not your people any more than they are mine, but they are still people."_ Addressing the formless cloud of light, I implored, _"Whatever I may have said, may have done… stop this destruction, I beg you. Let this conflict end, between us; let it be my siblings and I. Murder stalks this land; how can you allow this? You spared the drow that fought against your chosen, brought them home. Bhaal threatens all of us, how can you not see that?"_

I felt a wave of compassion, Ellesime's gentle thought given form. I saw Tethyr's northern forests, the elven host. It had left it days ago, and was already descending. They met the armies of the Bhaalspawn with magic, steel and a cloud of arrows so thick it blotted the sky. Horns flared, bows and steel sang; with a mighty roar that shook the earth, the elves of Suldanessellar charged into the fray.

War bands composed of former drow and elves alike, operated in units, singling out pockets of the dishevelled enemy and engaging with a tiger's ferocity. Chanting to their gods, the screams of battle soon drowned out their prayers.

With their arrival, Tethyr rallied.

 _"Tethyr does not stand alone,"_ she answered, smiling sadly.

I stared, then looked up at her gods, _"Thank you,"_ I whispered.


	14. Preparing the Stage

Preparing the Stage

Another surge. I awoke with a jolt. Imoen screamed, clutching her ears. Immediately, I went to her. She clung to me sobbing; I couldn't drown it out either. The chant of death, the song of the slain, the murdered rang throughout our very beings. Together we held back the darkness, but the darkness was growing stronger. I couldn't quiet it; even the seal Tree had placed was not enough. Rocking one another, it was all we could do not to scream.

I could see the Skull in my waking mind, hear its laughter. There was no more need for taunts; it was there, present, visible, alive. The taint manifested, our father.

We had to get away from the temple.

I had to get her away from the temple.

Following the first, a second surge struck, and we crumpled to the ground; we could feel the stones singing beneath us, echoing the death throes, pulsing like blood.

In the waking dream, I watched Amelyssan appear seemingly from nowhere, her cowl flapping as she parted through the ranks of warriors, the dead and living alike. Her knife struck the Bhaal-shade; its cry of rage, of hate, of mocking laughter lingered on in our minds.

My priestess?

His priestess?

Her own?

Moments after one shade had slain the other, she had slain the first. As quickly as she appeared, she was gone.

Faces flat against the stone floor, Imoen's eyes and mine met and held. We both understood. There were three of us left. If there had been any others, they were too weak… and had been hunted down.

"I love you."

She kissed me, tears welling in her eyes.

There wasn't anything else left to say. The taint thundered in our ears, and though the skull filled our minds, I saw her wan smile. We had come so far, separated, reunited, separated… and now together.

"I won't let him win, little brother."

"Neither will I."

Something passed between us, an understanding.

"I told him where to find us."

"I know." With a sniff, she tossed her hair to one side, "Ain't no different to Sarevok."

I drew in a deep breath, "Together, then?"

"Always."

Tightly I nodded, then lowered my eyes, "There's something you should know…"

She slapped me. "You idiot", she snapped, "what in the hells were you thinking?"

"What would you have done?"

"I…" She turned away, shamefaced, then flared, "I don't know! But opening yourself up like that? To one of Bhaal's priestesses? His _head_ priestess? They dun't call her 'The Blackhearted' for nothing!"

"She's a dreamwalker…"

"So?!"

My cheek still stung; she had only just held back. "Her words…"

"She told you what you wanted to hear!" Still aghast, she shook me by the shoulders, "Are you mad? If even half the stories are true… Amelyssan?! Gods– why didn't you _tell_ me?!"

"I couldn't just let her die."

"But… this…" She sighed, "I dun't understand you sometimes." Head cocked to one side, she studied me, "Why'd you do these things? Irenicus–"

"Irenicus is dead." I cut in quickly.

"Yeah, so you say," her dubiousness stung more than her slap, "but Sarevok?" It was the first time we'd really spoken about it since our captor's demise, "He killed Gorion, tried to kill both of us. Yeah, that's right."

I frowned at her.

"Why'd you think we left? 'Fore me there was another, a brother bit older than you. Sarevok threw him off the roof of the Iron Throne, the tallest buildin' in the 'Gate. You remember that night you woke? Yeah, that was him. He was the first. It'd have happened sooner or later." She hesitated, "He'd come for Sarevok, thought he could take him. One of them paladin-types."

She looked away, "He knew where we were. That's how Sarevok found us. I dunno how he knew, but he did. I… found it in Sarevok's journal. He was coming for you next… Gorion didn't know. He thought that it was me Sarevok knew about, not both of us. If Hull hadn't pushed ya…"

As she swallowed, my eyes closed. Had Hull saved my life? Did I owe him?

"It don't matter now; they're all gone now."

"How could he have known about us…?"

"Who? The paladin?"

"Yeah." Why? Why was she telling me this now? Then I realised how guilty she felt, how it might be the only chance to tell me. Just as I'd chosen to tell her about Amelyssan.

"I guess…" The frown marring her face was thoughtful, "Y'know, I really dun't know."

"Who could have told him?" I wondered aloud. "Who else knew?"

"Gorion… Khalid, Jaheira… I guess that stuffy old Ulraunt knew. He never liked either of us."

"I don't think he liked anyone."

"Heh, I guess that's the truth."

"But… inviting someone to come kill us? I doubt even Ulraunt would do that."

Her eyes widened, "Hey… you remember that day Gorion was really distant? Years ago? When he wouldn't tell us what was going on?"

"Did he ever tell us anything?"

"Well, no, but, well, he seemed really sad. Anyway, I uh, may've snuck a peek at his desk."

"You mean you broke in."

"Well… yeah, but anyway! S'not the point. I remember seeing a letter – something about one of his friends passin'. A couple of tendays later, all this started."

"Why didn't you ever say anything?"

She shrugged, "Didn't think nothin' of it."

"Maybe our brother found this friend…"

"Yeah, I guess. I can't think of a better answer anyway." She tapped her head, "It won't stop pounding."

"Mine either."

She kissed my brow, "Better?"

"A little," I smiled. "You'd better see Edwin."

"Uh… yeah… 'bout that… we already talked." Taking a breath, she watched me, "We've come to a decision."

My throat constricted.

"We ain't leaving you, brother. We've said our goodbyes, if… if anything happens. An', we want you to know that no matter what happens… well, yer still family. An' we love you."

" _Edwin_ said that?"

"Well… not in so many words, but yeah. We're with ya to the end. No matter what. Scaley too."

"Scaley? You named the wyvern _'Scaley'_?"

"So?"

"I… Immy…"

She giggled, then hugged me tightly. "Anyway, Eddie's makin' supper. S'it's better than yours, so…."

"Hey!"

Sniffing archly, she adopted her haughty impression of Nalia, "You make it so bland. How _anyone_ could make squirrel taste so _boring_ is quite incredible."

"At least it's better than that stuff you call 'bread'!"

"I'm not a baker."

We both looked at each other and started laughing. "You remember that time you flinched that pie from Winthrop…"

"And you got blueberry juice down your robe?"

"Because _you_ thrust it into my hands–"

"An' how miffed ole G was? Threatened not to let you out of the keep for a month?"

"Which would have suited me fine–"

"Except Winthrop made you clean the stables–"

"Which _you_ were supposed to do–"

"An' instead, you just sulked for days behind that dusty shelf…"

"I did _not_ sulk! _You_ kept smuggling things to me – you put a flagon of his bitterest ale on–"

"Ehh, it was a boring book. What was so fascinating about it anyway? All those dates–"

"You brought _ale_ into the library!"

"So? You gotta eat. If I didn't, you'd waste away. Always lookin' after ya, that's me."

"Like the time you brought me a rat?"

"It was dead," she shrugged.

"It was still twitching!"

"I only wanted to show it to ya, not for you to _eat_ it." She rolled her eyes, then giggled, "'Sides, the Gatewarden's look was priceless when the chanters found it by their soup."

"You had the entire keep in an uproar! Ultraunt was–"

"Stuffy, strict, borin'." Yawning, she waved it aside, "I thought Cook would burst with the indignity, 'rats in _my_ kitchen'?!"

"Yeah, they put us all to rat clearing duty."

"Yup! The Great Rat Purge of Candlekeep!"

"And where were _you_ in all of this?"

"Oh, I was here and there…"

"Behind the stable, with some nobleman's brat I seem to recall–"

"Hey! It was just a _kiss_ , don't be such a prude. How'd you find out about that anyway?"

"Oh, maybe because, you know, he _bragged_ about it?"

"Why that little snitch… he promised never to tell!"

I grinned, "I don't know why you liked him anyway. I didn't think you went for the dirty-blond types."

She sniffed, "Not like there was much choice. 'Sides, he told me stories of Beregost and the 'Gate. Said he'd even been to Waterdeep."

"He was a pompous braggart!"

"He was sweet an' nice to me. He said pretty things about my hair."

"So you let him kiss you?"

"It's not like I let him do more."

"Imoen!"

She shrugged, "An' what about you? I remember some brown haired maid who kept making moon eyes at you while her mistress pretended to be interested in her husband's ramblings. Ya'd think he loved the scholar more than his wife…" A giggle, "maybe he did. I know that _she_ an' the Gatewarden spent some time together…"

 _"Imoen!"_

"Why, what'd you think they were doing?"

"I – I didn't think about it!"

"Nope! Too busy reading yer books." She beamed, "An' too shy to notice the girl."

"I was _fourteen_!"

"So? She was only fifteen."

I sighed.

"You know, I think she looked a bit like Iltha, but not as pretty. You might've at least spoken to her, I nudged ya enough times."

"I didn't want to kiss her behind the cowshed!"

"Yeah, ya always were a bit odd." Shrugging, she tapped my nose, "Well, once we show big ole Balthazar where he can stuff Bhaal's throne, we'll go find you one." She considered, "I'm pretty sure she still likes you. If not, plenty more out there. Don't worry; we'll find you at least _one_ lass to kiss 'fore you're old an' wrinkled."

I tried to keep my smile, wrinkling my nose as my heart sank. She spoke as if we would both live through this…

"Welp! I'm guessin' squirrel's ready! Can you smell it? Mmm!"

I fixed her a strange look, then shrugged.

"What? Oh, you're not _still_ hung up over using Scaley to catch our food, are ya? I make sure his teeth an' claws are clean. If ya that hungry, ya won't complain." She slapped my rumbling belly, "There, ya see. He knows what's good fer ya, even if ye don't. Now come on! Last one there's a hobgoblin!"


	15. Endgame, part 1

Endgame

Balthazar. Amelyssan. They were both here. In the dream, we stood before Bhaal's throne, the beckoning dais. It stood empty, ringed by the shades of our siblings. Those who had reached for it and failed. Now all eyes were upon me.

Well, mocked the Skull, will you take the prize?

I looked at Balthazar, then at Amelyssan. I felt the empty eyes of the other Children. The universe seemed to hold its breath. I thought of Imoen.

"Never."

The scene unravelled.

I stood in front of Amelyssan. In her hand, she held a knife. The ritual was almost complete; all was in readiness. I had only to take my place. The alter awaited.

I looked up at her.

To my side, Imoen waited. I smiled tightly at her and stepped forwards…

In the darkness, I felt her soundless scream.

I looked around the chamber. It was dark, a land of shifting black fog. Spectres and spirits floated past me. Faces I did not know, the victims of Bhaal's legacy. More and more, countless in number. Their featureless faces did not seem to notice me; I seemed to be walking forwards. Further and further, and then I recognised some of the faces floating past me. They did not acknowledge me; I did not greet them.

Finally, at the end, I met the spectre I feared and despised most of my life. This time, I was unafraid. I saw myself, and haunting me, the image of Bhaal. This was who I was, what I was. As much as I had tried to fight it, tried to hide, tried to run from it, I was his son. His taint ran through me, and he was part of me.

I accepted it.

This was my destiny, to kill or be killed. I had made my choice. I would die. A strange calm settled over me, a peace. I felt my sire's scorn, his rebuke at my weakness. I held myself proud. I was his son, but I was not him. I would return to him, his essence – my essence – but I would never be like him. The fearful, fretful youth had gone.

I turned and spied Amelyssan on my right. Well, my look seemed to say. She did not respond; there was no need: the knife lain flat against her palms was answer enough. She was Bhaal's priestess for all her defiance, and she still had her part to play. Whether she completed the rites, or corrupted them, she, like us, was the last of Bhaal's products. She was responsible for hunting down and slaying the rest of Bhaal's Brides and ridding the world of his more powerful followers; she had been the greatest of the temple assassins, the first of his priesthood. Now she was the last.

Would she seize his throne for herself?

Would she be murdered by his taint as Bodhi had been?

Would it be my dagger that pierced her heart?

I studied her silent resolve, her covering cowls, and I recalled her words. I thought of Balthazar.

Bhaal's time was over.

No matter who won, Bhaal had lost.

I awoke.

It was time.


	16. Endgame, part 2

We met them on the temple mount. Two solitary figures, each alone. They walked towards us. Balthazar had honoured our pact. Imoen stood beside me, Edwin off to one side with Wyvern. I refused to use Imoen's name for him, even now.

Breakfast had been silent that morning. All three of us had spent the night awake, lost in thought, laughter, tales and times of other places. We joked, bantered, exchanged quips and Edwin and I discussed subjects that bored Imoen. She played with Wyvern, while Edwin and I sipped wine. It brought us back to Nalia's keep, the first night we played chess together, after cutting a swathe through Delryn's bragging to Nalia's ire. Our shared determination, our desperation to recover Imoen from Irenicus' clutches had given us a common foe, forming a bond far deeper than either of us suspected. He had been with Imoen when I had not, facing down Sarevok as if not even a demi-god could match his magick's prowess. After losing Imoen and failing to protect her as I had, guilt had consumed him, and in Suldanessellar, he helped turn back the tide. With Imoen, Jaheira, Korgan and Minsc, they had bought me the distraction I needed to destroy Irenicus once and for all.

Since that time, he had grown quiet, reserved, considering before he spoke. His even temper was not that of the fiery young man he was two years ago. With Imoen, a calm seemed to settle within him, stilling his acid bite. He was still one of the most intelligent men I'd ever met, and my respect for him had only increased. I trusted him with my life, and with Imoen's life.

He had entrusted his own and Imoen's to my hands, and now as we waited for the dawn, he would do so again. He already knew my choice and wordlessly accepted it. Had he any doubt, he would have turned his magicks upon me, even if it meant losing Imoen forever.

Meeting my slight nod, we shared the same thought, and looked over to Imoen. She was trying to teach the Wyvern to snatch morsels out of the air in time, sighing in fond exasperation when he failed and beaming when he succeeded.

I knew the two lovers had made their goodbyes the night before; their time had been tearful, wilful, fiery and passionate. While I walked in dreams, they had their privacy. When I found them, a calm had settled and they lay in each others' arms. A single glance had been enough; they had washed, dressed and now we spent this last night together as friends… as family.

Dawn was breaking as the last of my brothers reached the basin. Edwin could have triggered the magical traps now, blasting the landscape, but he did not. I did not need to signal him; he understood. Balthazar's lean, weathered face was shaved, and he wore the robes of his order. In simple white marked with edged runes, he walked with a self possession and discipline perhaps only Edwin could hope to match with his spellweaving. Draped over his vestments, he wore a chain, a rod hung from its centre. I understood immediately.

I inclined my gaze ever so slightly; he acknowledged it.

Like me, he had come here to die. I could not read the script his robe told, but I did not need to. The reds, blues and yellows around runes were nothing more than an outward symbol of his inward intent.

With my gesture-less invitation, he ascended the rise. Beside me, Imoen was tight lipped. Out of all of us, she displayed the most wariness; to our right, Amelyssan approached. I greeted her with the smallest nod, offering her the respect her station was due. She did not return the nod, but held her composure without the aloof chill she had shown others.

It would have been inappropriate to welcome them. Instead I waited for them both to crest the mount, and from our place where the sacrificial chamber stood, I motioned towards the steps.

With a grace I had not expected, Amelyssan ascended the same stairs she had left through so many years ago. Balthazar took the main steps.

Here, for the first time in my presence, she lifted her cowl. Despite the ritual scaring, I was struck by how staggeringly beautiful she was. I traced her features in my mind's eye, and saw my own reflected back in her. She shared Illasera's complexion, my features. Dark hair, a gaze the colour of burnt hazel, and skin fairer than snow. In the form-fitting brown-black garb of a Deathstalker, Bhaal's assassins, and draped in the vestments and headdress of his priestess, she wore none of his insignia. I did not find it strange that the Skull was missing; it seemed natural. In its place, streaks of crimson showed, her undershirt. My fingers brushed the knife's pommel at my belt and fell to my side. The knife at her side was the same one from the dream.

"So, brother," I greeted Balthazar, "you have come." The words seemed needless, but they warmed the silence, "I am prepared."

"As am I. Make your peace. This will be our last sunrise."

"Wait…" Imoen cut in, "Do we – do we really have to do this? Can't we just… leave?"

I admired her for trying; Balthazar's stare was chill itself, then slowly he shook his head.

"It has to end." It was my gentle voice, not his grim words that answered, "the gods have decreed this. We need to finish this."

"But _why_?" She implored, "You don't want to die, do you?" Appealing directly to Balthazar, her eyes were full, hurt, "I don't want to kill you. You seem like a good guy, a bit uptight, but…"

He softened only slightly, "This must be."

"But _why_?" She repeated, "I mean, why do we have to kill each other?"

"It will never be over until we do."

"So? We'll all die, right? One day? Can't we just go and… live somewhere. Away from all this."

I closed my eyes and sighed; I should have expected this. There was nothing to stop us… except a lack of trust. Still, I had to try, for her sake. "She has a point."

"No." Balthazar's stoniness cut through reason, "I cannot allow you to continue Bhaal's line. You might not wish it, but those you bear might. It ends today."

"And his throne? Do you want it?" I asked softly.

"I will see his black taint sealed away forever."

"So that's it, then." Imoen sighed sadly, "I guess we fight. It doesn't have to be this way…"

Silence greeted her.

I looked at Amelyssan, "And you?"

"I will oversee this. Whatever the outcome."

Without hesitation, I nodded, then added shyly, "Thank you." I meant it; puzzlement passed her brow briefly. "I'm… glad you're here at the end."

Both my brother and sister frowned at me.

I turned to Edwin, "If you would leave us now. I… am grateful to have had you at my side. You've been a brother – the only one who hasn't tried to kill me." Anticipating a typical Edwin retort, he surprised me.

"I'll ensure no one interferes." He nodded curtly, and shared a timeless look with Imoen, turned and left without a word. Wyvern followed him.

"So now it ends," I murmured, watching the sunrise. Crimson had become gold. With a glance at Amelyssan, I reached out to her with the dreaming, _"When this is over… if… make it clean?"_

She had been there at the beginning; memories of gazing into her eyes filled my mind. I held onto that image and left the dream. I sensed her agreement, and drew in a deep breath.

My gaze met Balthazar's; he offered the curtest of nods.

Joneleth's dagger pulsed with power, my power. It came free in my hand; the Skull's anticipation at this epic contest was delicious. It had finally won. I would murder, and become his–

I plunged it into my chest.

 _"YOU CANNOT–"_

"It's done…"

Imoen screamed.

I felt the firm ground beneath me, the cool stone. A few feet away lay the alter I had been placed on as a babe, the site of Aliana's death. My promise fulfilled, my final defiance…

Everything started to fade; it was growing darker.

I saw Balthazar's shock; he had not expected I would hold to my word. I coughed; I tasted blood, my own, hot, metallic. I couldn't breathe; a second cough, choked. His stupor was short lived; his wits returned. I could see the tears on Imoen's cheeks, glinting in the rising sunlight. She was… beautiful.

"No! _No!_ " She screamed, "You – you _promised_! Together… we were meant do this together…" Eyes blazing, hair wild, she glowed with power, the tempest, the furious maelstrom within. Falling to her knees, she cradled my head, "Why? _Why?_ "

I couldn't speak; all I could do was smile. I wanted to warn her not to turn her back on Balthazar, but she was past caring. I knew Edwin would protect her. With that knowledge came peace, the peace that let me smile. I tried to touch her cheek; all my strength was leaving me. I hadn't needed the poison after all…

"I won't let you die!"

My lips formed those three small words that had changed everything.

She snatched the dagger and ripped it from my chest; my eyes widened as she thrust her power into me. I resisted, catching, holding, reflecting it. Sobbing she shook me, her hands crimson, "No, damn you, stop fighting…"

From behind her there was a soft grunt; I couldn't see around her. I didn't need to.

Soundlessly, a shadow covered me, blocking the light. The one they called Blackhearted stood over me; I stared up into the endless depths of her expressionless eyes. It felt right; that they were both here meant I could let go… No grandiose struggle, no betrayal as the taint overwhelmed me.

 _"You were my second."_

My breaths came in rasps; my pounding heart slowed. Time seemed to lose meaning. With the last of my power, I chose to be still, releasing it. I did not cling to it as Sarevok had done. Three years since this all began… three and a bit months. I breathed my last, and I felt myself began to break, dissipating. This time, I allowed it; golden dust filled my sight.


	17. Consequently

Consequently

"You've shown your true nature, godchild."

She was the most beauteous creature I had ever seen, even more so than Illasera, then Amelyssan. Against the grey sea of mist, she glowed. Disconnected, I considered her. Golden hues danced around her, wings, her skin composed of layers of translucent blues. A being of light outlined in human form. Towering above me, her eyes studied me.

Where was I? The waking dream? I was… dead. Confusion gripped me and faded; it didn't matter where I was. I regarded her gaze; ageless wisdom, the knowledge of the planes themselves, contained within twin dashes of white, the colour of moonstones. Pinpricks of yellow stood in place of pupils, teardrops. She stood crowned with gold.

As a mortal, she could have crushed me. As a demi-god, I acknowledged her. As whatever remained of me, in this grey twilight between death, I did not resist her. I did not feel awe, only still; she possessed a purity words could not express, radiating a calm patience flowing with warmth. Distantly I was reminded of Tree.

I felt her smile.

"You have been given a choice."

Quizzically, I waited. Was I floating? Her words were soft, rich, musical. Like nothing I'd ever heard before.

"Your father's throne stands empty."

Could I speak? Concepts formed in my mind, words. They filtered from my lips, "Balthazar?"

"He honoured your pact. Like you, his sacrifice sealed your sire's taint."

I nodded slowly; he too had overcome the taint. "Restore my fallen, that's all I ask."

"And what of yourself?" Quietly, intensely, she spoke to my very soul, her sight fixing to my inmost being.

"I choose their life over mine."

Again, she smiled, "That wasn't the choice."

My heart sank; I had lost… "So be it…"

"You misunderstand."

I looked up.

"You have been given a great gift, godchild. The elven Tree of Life will not let you go. It has claimed you as its own and given you its fruit. You may ascend your father's throne, or remain as a mortal."

"But… Imoen – she was the last, not I – she–"

"Will not allow her little brother to perish, any more than you will allow her. She turned the dagger on herself, as you did. She has made her choice. There is no one to claim your sire's throne now except you."

"Imoen…"

"She would rather die than live in a world without you."

"But…" I stared. A god; one of the very things I despised. "Bhaal…"

"Is defeated. His foul plan came to naught." It was the closest I heard to disapproval in her, "All that awaits him was oblivion. He could not reclaim that which he stole." Her smile was brilliant, beautiful, "you have seen the light of truth where others failed. You alone have seen the darkness for what it is. Your sire's lies will not endure."

"If I refuse…?"

"Then you will remain joined to the Tree, and live out your days as a mortal. Whether you take his place or not, Bhaal is gone. He cannot be brought back."

"But a god…"

"Can still die. The taint is no more. If you claim his throne, I will guide you."

"Why?"

"So many questions god-child," her smile returned, more radiant than before, "but I am happy to answer. You have shown your true nature, and it is more noble than any know or suspect. You have spared your foes instead of destroying them, held back the darkness, a darkness greater than your strength at the cost of your own life. None could have foreseen this, not even I.

"You have shaken the gods with your sacrifice; even the elf gods did not believe you would follow through."

I shook my head; all she said was true, but I did not believe it. I had fought against the Skull the only way I knew how.

Gently, she overrode me, "You have persistently given all for those caught up in this conflict, those of their own making, and those not."

"I… don't know if I can. I'm not ready." I stared at my feet; somehow my body had reformed; then up at her, "I've never had the chance to live as a mortal, never free of this. Not as an adult. How can I rule as a god when I haven't even experienced life? Will you force me into a new chain? This choice… how can I choose?"

"You have it in you." Her words carried only slightly sternness.

"Don't you see how unfair this is?" I cast my gaze around, "Look at them, these mortals. Look at _me_. Do you not see how broken I am, how damaged? How broken, how damaged they are? As a mortal, I can help them only so much; as a god, I can do so much more, but… how can I be a god to them without knowing what it is to be with them? Not just in war, but in peace, not as a child, but an adult. Will you strip this away from me as well?"

"What do you propose then?" It was not her gaze I found looking at me through her eyes.

"You already know."

There was a long pause, a consideration. "Very well. You may live out your mortal years, and upon your death, you shall ascend. That is the prize you've earned… and my gift. Do not make me regret it."

"Thank you…" He was already gone, but I called to the shining being before she could follow, "You'll wait for me?"

The plea must have touched her; she gifted me with that amazing smile, and light as warm as the sun enveloped me, "Until we next meet, god-child."

Distantly, I felt Tree's approval, and with it, the elven gods. Their surprise, their suspicion, scepticism, disbelief and… affection mingled in. Joy at my triumph. And that special warmth… One of them at least had believed in me. I owed them an apology.

Before my return to the waking world, I found I had been given an additional gift. Or perhaps it had been inside me all along. The spirits of the slain stood before me, watching, waiting. Now Murder's domain was mine, their fate was mine to decide.

Standing amongst the host of spectres, I saw Laurel. Nearby, Aliana and Gorion waited. All would be welcome in my court, the living and the dead. The guilty and the innocent alike would be subject to my rule, and those who had suffered murder were mine. I was their master, Murder's master. As its master, I would murder it with life; those that found themselves in my realm would live again. Not in the mortal coil, nor in torment, as the flayed skulls and corpses my father taken, but as spectres of light.

They heard me and bowed to my will; I felt Gorion's silent pride, Aliana's warmth, and Laurel's smile. They would be waiting for me.

My eyes opened.

I was not a god yet.


	18. Epilogue

Epilogue

In my hands, I held the fruit from the Tree of Life. I would plant it, and from its boughs, more fruit would spring. This, the Tree, not the Skull, would be my symbol, and its fruit my desire. The sacrifice knives would die with my father, and those who followed me would learn not to fear death, only to grieve as their loved one passed from this world into mine.

I would still have to share with the other gods and work things out, but that was the plan. Not everyone would agree, and many would resent it. There would be more battles ahead, but those could wait. For now, I would remain as I had wished all my life: free. Free to determine my own fate, to live.

Perhaps Edwin was right; perhaps I was a male dryad. If that was all I was remembered for, it was better than the pain I had brought my siblings'. I would have to visit Nalia, Iltha and Gerran as I promised. They would expect nothing less, and now Aerie was a priestess of a mortal-who-would-turn-god, and not a demi-god, I had some explaining to do. Korgan might not understand, but I did not expect him to. Then again, the wily old dwarf cared little for religion; as long as he had ale, and Aerie, he would be content. He would probably brain any who refused to believe in me.

My gnolls I would return to; I would not rebuild the stronghold: it would remain a ruin, untouched by man, an unspoilt wilderness. My sirines, my xvarts and winter-wolves would roam free as they were meant to… I would bring Aerie, I decided, and show her the joy of being greeted by a pup with boundless energy, its paws resting on her shoulders as it licked her face. I would introduce her to Bear, and teach her these simple delights. She would settle in Nalia's lands, I suspected, and I would travel.

Imoen and Edwin would find a home of their own and raise children, though whether before or after inflicting the realms with their mischief, I did not care to guess. I imagined we would all visit Khalid and Jaheira before any of us settled down. Before we did, we would dig up Illasera and prepare ourselves for one more fight. She would have the choice denied our brothers: another chance at life. She might seek out godhood, or spend her days atoning, but if she wished to walk with me, I would not stop her.

Perhaps I would journey to see Minsc and Dynaheir's in their distant land of Rashemen. I would seek out Keldorn Firecam and Anomen at the Radiant Hart, visit Joneleth and Ellesime and their new daughter. Perhaps one day, I would even return to Candlekeep. The future was mine to do with it as I chose.

Amelyssan would serve me as head of my order. I had not struck her down, and proved I was better than my father. Where his betrayal had turned her against him, my pardon had left her in wonder.

As for Balthazar perhaps he could learn compassion and temper mercy with justice, kindness with righteousness. He had never been my foe, only the taint within. Despite the Solar's words, I do not believe Bhaal is truly gone. His shadow lingers in the hearts and minds of others; in time it will fade, lost to history but my brother will not. Ultimately, Balthazar's sacrifice proved we are not slaves' to a dead god's will. He is a humbled man now, one forced down a tyrant's road to hold back a greater threat. He did not deserve death, and his life is restored.

He will be welcome in my court.

It is there Sarevok awaits me; he will stand as my champion, and perhaps one day, he, Imoen and I will live the life Aliana wished: the three of us as brothers and sister. The power promised him, playing on his fears, fed to him through lies, I will give freely to him. Bhaal's taint is gone, and he will prove his heart. Noble divinity flows through his veins, and no matter how naïve I sound, or how much I may come to regret it, he will have his chance.

He will stand at my side, not as master and servant, but as my brother.

The realms will weep the day Imoen joins us, and the hells will tremble. On that day, we, Bhaal's children, shall wage war on the darkness, on the demons and devils that inhabit the hells, and we will drive back their infernal night. Those, their victims, will be brought back to my court, where new judgement shall await them. Even now they fear, knowing the storm is coming. Where my sire embraced their evil, I renounce it. Those gods who worship tyranny and rejoice in pain will understand what it is to face Murder's fury. My fury.

History knows me as the last of the Bhaalspawn, the Ascended. The Dreamwalker. For my part, I do not claim the victories attributed to me: Bhaal was my foe, no other. Without him, Irenicus never would have appeared, and neither I nor my siblings would have visited such devastation on the land. Perhaps in time we shall _all_ learn. As for myself? I shall remain nameless.

…

The End


End file.
